Godalming, Surrey, November 24th
Caerys paused, in the midst of the mayhem, stunned as Gavin slumped against the wall. Eyes wide, staring, glaring, his gaze pierced into her head as he mouthed to her.
“What?” she whispered, barely flinching as a second bullet caught him in the thigh, spraying a gout of blood over her that shook Sophie from her shock and into action.
“Merde!” she half-screamed, half-cried, dragging on the taller woman’s arm as she tried to get around the corner and out of the line of fire.
“Go!” Gavin soundlessly spoke again, and then his legs gave out beneath him, and he slumped to the floor, the glaring eyes glazing over as she watched.
“Oh god…” she whispered, relaxing, letting herself be dragged off by Sophie’s intensity. Slipping out of sight, she finally managed to tear her eyes away from him, and the pair of the them broke into a run, heading for the growing sounds of the main street. Police cars were sweeping in from both ends of the village, as panicked locals scurried away from anything that moved, and the pair of them were quickly lost in the throng as a light drizzle started to fall. Free of the image of Gavin, slumped at the foot of the wall, Caerys found herself taking the lead, pushing through the crowd towards the little bridge – noticing the bodies of the fallen had already gone, until they got to the fallen motorbike, now leant up against the wall.
“Get on.” She hissed to Sophie, as the police started to get the crowd to settle.
“Where are we going to go?” Sophie asked, quietly, a defeated tone in her voice.
“Away from here. Wherever. Does it matter? They’re here, and we don’t… we don’t have Gavin’s protection any more.” Sophie paled even further at that, forcing Caerys to reach out an arm and hold her up. “Come on, girl, don’t lose it now…”
Steeling herself, Sophie drew a shuddering breath, nodded, and slipped onto the back of the bike as she turned it around on the narrow bridge and headed into the small village as the rain got heavier.
“Over there!” someone shouted behind them, and Caerys gunned the engine as she cursed, sensing the pursuit start.
“They’re behind us…” Sophie moaned, barely audible over the wind and the engine. Caerys nodded, and braked hard, turning tightly into the bend to take them back towards the village. Shooting through at speed behind the crowd, she sensed the pursuit break off – not wanting the publicity, she figured – and start to circle slowly around the town to keep track of her.
“We’ve lost the amulet!” she shouted over her shoulder.
“So?”
“So they can follow us again…” Caerys let that reality settle, and eased off on the throttle a little as the lanes became narrower and tighter, trying to pick her way as randomly as she could. Free of the immediate pursuit, she couldn’t shake the image of Gavin slumped against the wall out of her mind, and it took Sophie’s strangled scream to get her to turn aside as a dark, black-windowed car pulled out ahead of them, cutting off their route.
The bike wasn’t designed for off-road use, and neither of them were particularly good riders, but the paths between the trees were well-used and free of the worst of the detritus of untouched lands. Their pace slowed, dramatically, and Caerys began to get flashes of movement to either side; low, loping figures that alternated between running upright and knuckling along on all fours at a prodigious rate.
More and more drops of rain spattered through the trees, disrupting even the little sense of sound that they had, and Caerys realised she was slowly being herded back the way she’d come, towards the black car.
Suddenly, in the midst of a clearing, she was forced to brake hard and skid the bike to a halt in the midst of a semi-circle of hunched, twisted parodies of humanity – and stood in the midst of them, her father.
“Caerys.” He smiled a humourless smile. “How nice to see you again.” Behind her, the chasing circle closed in, filling the gaps in the trees, leaving her nowhere to run. Bulging with muscle, low-browed with pig-like eyes, they reminded her of Nadal, and she felt Sophie shiver behind her as she took in the scene as well before slowly stepping off the bike.
“And you brought lunch with you, too.” Her father added. “How kind.”
Munstead Heath, November 24th
Sophie slipped hesitantly from the bike, slowly eyeing the bulky figures gathered around the clearing, not noticing the comparatively slight figure stood in front of her, at first.
“Ques-que c’est?” she wondered, aloud, nudging Caerys in the back, gently. “What are they?”
“Half-trolls.” Caerys’ father replied, with a jaunty air. “Vicious, bloody-minded, idiotic as a bible-belt trailer-park mechanic, but they can smell meat from miles away and they don’t rest until they’ve eaten.”
Sophie stepped out around Caerys, slowly, not wanting to startle anyone.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, and turned to Caerys when she didn’t answer. The red-head, though, was bolt upright, face set, tears streaming down her face and her gaze distant. “Caerys, come on…” she tried to shake her out of it, but Caerys merely wobbled under the pressure, and her father took a step forward.
“Seeing, Caerys?” He smirked. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You should have seen this coming, surely.” He laughed at his own joke – certainly it was beyond the grunting behemoths that surrounded them – and then let the laughter fade away.
“Did she tell you what she was getting you into?” he asked Sophie, stepping forward again, but she just shook her head and stepped back a little, then halted when she realised she couldn’t leave Caerys alone with him. “Oh, how sweet.” He laughed again, and began to approach for real as Caerys shook herself from whatever reverie she’d been in.
“At least,” she threw up a warding hand, and her father slowed, “at least let me say goodbye?”
“I feel magnanimous.” He allowed, after a moment’s thought, stepping back. “Why not.”
Caerys turned, wrapping her arms about Sophie’s neck gently, and pulling her close, resting her forehead gently against the little scab that still sat between the doctor’s eyebrows.
“Sophie, listen, please… trust me.” She almost begged.
“What choice do I have?” she asked, darting her eyes sideways to look at what awaited them.
“Listen… Gavin’s alive…” she whispered, and Sophie started, feeling Caerys strong grip hold her in place.
“Don’t give it away… he’s almost here. Do you trust me?” Sophie took a breath, shuddering gently, feeling tears welling again.
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I… yes.”
“Then hold on!” she almost shouted the last out loud, and dropped straight forward, baring the shorter figure of the French woman to the floor, as hell erupted around the clearing.
Munstead Heath, Surrey, November 24th
The rain dragged heavily at the shirt he wore, the pain radiating from his chest pulsing with each cold drop that snaked inside his collar, but he pushed on from tree to tree. Part of him was seeking to break up his profile against the natural surroundings, but he was pragmatic enough to admit that the support was more necessary than helpful.
His breath was coming hard and fast, the rain driving it out of the air before it could frost and give away his location, but he knew he still had the skill to evade the pursuit, even if he couldn’t rely on pure speed. Ahead of him, large figures bulldozed their way through the undergrowth, giving him a reliable idea of where they were, and behind him he could see the nearest of his pursuers closing in, threatening to catch him between the hammer and the anvil.
Bereft of bullets, and with his sword still in the boot of the car he’d left back amidst the crowded village, all he had in the way of offense was the heavy knife he’d found dropped near him when he came round, but that left him with a few options – not good options, but he was on the back foot already.
Glancing behind himself to be sure the pursuit was, still, pursuing, Gavin pushed off from the tree and slipped across the path to close with the nearest two hulking guards of the clearing. Past them, by his bike, he could see Caerys and Sophie huddled together in the middle of the space where it would be difficult to reach them.
Pressing himself against the bole of the tree, he found himself breathing harder than he should be, clutching at a rib, and looking back to gauge the timing of things. With perhaps a minute and a half until the soldiers arrived, he shimmied up the nearest tree, and circled around through the branches as quietly as he could.
Below him, one of the brutish face turned to look up, and with his cover broken, he dropped heel first from the branch, driving down into the jutting, hooked nose with a crack of bone and a strangely high-pitched squeal of pain. A dozen pig-like eyes turned towards him as he rode the toppling figure to the floor, softening his landing with the bulky form beneath him, but feeling his knees buckle slightly anyway.
“Gavin!” Sophie squealed from the floor beside the bike, and then shots rang out from the far side of the clearing, punching into the distorted people around them.
“Turn and fight!” Caerys’ father shouted to the slow-witted hulks, and they sprang out of the clearing, leaving the trio alone with the imposing figure who appeared unfazed by the gunfire. “Another friend of yours, Caerys? You have been busy.”
“Afternoon.” Gavin greeted him, standing straight and tall, ready on the balls of his feet as the slightly shorter man gave him an appraising eye-over.
“This is what you bring to defend yourself?” he mocked, Caerys, who slowly made her way to her feet, helping Sophie up.
“Yeah.” She finally muttered, staring back at him, with a strength Gavin could see she didn’t really feel. “This is who I’ve brought to defend myself.”
“Very well.” He was quick. The ten or fifteen feet between them disappeared in a blink as he launched himself – and the knife in his hand – at Caerys’ chest.
Gavin, though, barely six feet away by the time he’d finished standing, got there first. His heavy-bladed knife pushed the lunge aside but he didn’t try to stop the flying figure, merely placed a foot on his stomach and heaved him skyward, adding to his momentum and letting him land a dozen yards or so away, skidding across the grass.
“Run, damnit!” Gavin snapped at the women, as he stood up again, managing not to stumble with an effort of will, and turned to face the startled attacker.
“You’re… hmmm.” He smirked, gently. “You’re not Marduk’s, I know you’re not one of mine. You must… Camael’s, yes…”
“I’m mine.” Gavin explained, quietly, privately thankful for the rest. Adrenaline was muting the pain from his chest, but it couldn’t last, and he was walking the narrow line between being exhaustion and pain. “Just mine.”
“I see.” The smirk grew, and Gavin held himself in check as the urge came upon him to wipe it away. “Definitely Camael’s, then. He always did love the illusion of free will.”
“Whatever.” Partially focussed on the discussion, Gavin had to frown at Caerys as she struggled to get back on the bike. “No, Caerys, they’ll be able to track the…” he started, and her father leapt again. Tired, cold and slow, Gavin got in a partial block that pushed the knife down away from his chest, cutting into the soft tissue below his ribs instead with a burning pain. Twisting with the blow to minimise the damage, he was forced to striked downward with the butt of the knife in his hand, hearing a collar-bone crack as he did, and he watched the knife go skittering across the floor.
Even injured, he was still devastating, and as the taller man bent under the blow Gavin’s knee rose to impact on his face, cracking his jaw, and he stumbled free as the forces outside the clearing began to intercept each other.
“Come on!” he grimaced to Sophie, tugging her behind him and motioning for Caerys to follow them as he stumbled a little on the uneven ground.
“How… you…” Sophie tried to phrase her question, but Gavin cut her off, ducking from tree to tree as the melee swirled around them.
“Later, Docto…” he cut off with a wince as a stray branch jabbed his side, and he bent to retrieve a rifle from a fallen soldier. “Go, over there.” He pointed to a low fence on the other side of the path, and the two women hesitantly followed his direction as he covered them.
A soldier turned, hearing them, and Gavin unleashed two rounds into his stomach, feeling the gun jam after the second.
“Plastic piece of crap.” He muttered, tossing the SA-80 away, and following across the path to join the women. “Over… head south…” he gasped, wheezing a little. “Back to the village… The car.”
“Come here.” Caerys reached for him, easily stepping inside his arm when he tried to brush her off, and slung an arm around his waist, making him hiss when she pulled too tightly.
“Fuck, woman, are you trying to kill me.”
“Don’t tempt me…” she whispered, but her heart wasn’t really in it.
Munstead Heath, Surrey, November 24th
“How the hell is he even standing?” Caerys muttered, as Gavin leant up against a nearby tree, staring across the open ground to the back of the village, searching for danger in the tall grasses.
“I don’t know.” Sophie admitted, still trying to brush the blood from her fingers. She’d bandaged him as well as she could with the strips they’d torn from his shirt – it wouldn’t last, but it kept him upright. She knew, though, that most men would be dead from those wounds, and the rest would be incapable of walking. “It’s… it’s like he’s no more human than those… those…”
“Trolls.” Caerys muttered, blinking rapidly, looking far away. “Damn it… trolls… GAVIN!” she turned, yelling, and he ducked instinctively as the blocky fist swung through the air above his head, tearing into the supple trunk of the tree with a splintering shock that toppled it to the floor.
Stepping back to gain space, Gavin favoured his injured side more than he felt the need to, inviting the attack, and then circled inside the hooked punch to crunch an elbow between the small, close-set eyes. It landed, but lacked the strength it should, torn muscles not reacting how he’d expected. The counter drove the wind from his lungs and left him on all fours a dozen feet away, gasping. The expected kick came towards his stomach and he rolled, not away from the strike but in towards it, over the top of the boot, trapping both legs and toppling the figure to the floor where Caerys appeared to batter it over the head with a branch.
Distracted, it looked to her, and Gavin drove his knife deep into its chest, twisting once or twice until the body shuddered, and he knew he’d hit the heart.
“We can’t take much more of this.” He whispered, flecks of blood on his lips as he spoke, and the two women struggled to help him to his feet. It took both of them to hold him up, and the three of them looked back nervously to where the sounds of gunfire and screaming were dying away.
“What do we do?” Sophie asked, and Gavin just gasped, unable to reply.
“We go for it.” Caerys decided. “We stay here, we die, it’s as simple as that. With the car – and the amulet back – we just need distance.” Sophie nodded, without Caerys’ faith in the jewellery, but without any other options, and strengthened her grip on Gavin as he wheezed and coughed up more traces of blood.
“Go!” Dashing across the broken terrain as best they could, Caerys quickly realised that Gavin wasn’t slowing them particularly, but they still weren’t travelling fast enough to evade the bulky figure that loped out of the tree-line. “How many of those fucking things are there?” she muttered, as Gavin dragged her arm from around him.
“Give me some room.”
“You aren’t going to fight that thing?” Caerys asked, incredulous. He eyed her, turning the knife around and offering her the hilt.
“Did you want to?”
“Oh, shit…”
“Be ready to run.” He told her, as Sophie realised what was happening and tried to tug on his other arm.
“You can’t do this, Gavin, you’re hurt already.”
“I’m hurt too much to run.” He told her, gently, as the bulky figure slowed it’s approach. “Go with Caerys… be ready to run.”
The figure stopped, just out of range, and Caerys eased Sophie back away from him as he turned to face it. In the open space, with better light, he was able to get a good view of them for the first time. Easily eight feet tall, but hunched over so that the shoulder-blades were the highest point, the head was low-browed and primitive, small beady eyes staring out from below a jutting forehead. Overly long arms hung low with long, raking claws at the end, and corded, bunched muscle stretching tight over the twisted chest and stomach.
Deformed, twisted, adjusted, Gavin wasn’t sure what the process was, but fundamentally, beneath it all, the skeletal and muscular structure looked human. It had strength and speed, he’d seen – so did he – but they hadn’t shown wit or control, as yet, and in his condition those were Gavin’s best weapons. Wanting to dictate how things went, he feinted to his left, and pretended to stumble – only just succeeding in making it a pretense as his knee threatened to buckle under the weight.
He lacked strength with his injuries, and as the predictable counter strike came in he instead relied on precision, stepping inside the strike and twisting, rolling the hulks own strength against it to apply pressure to the wrist until tendons and muscles in the forearm tore under the momentum. The now familiar high-pitched squeal of pain emerged, but was quickly cut off as he drove the knife down into the back of its neck, severing the spine, and dropping it lifelessly to the floor.
“Jesus, Gavin…” Caerys muttered, beside him almost instantly. “How the fuck are you still doing that…”
“Born to fight.” He explained, wincing as he felt the broken rib grinding from his exertions. “Come on, let’s go.”
Godalming, Surrey, November 24th
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, this area’s off-limits.” A tall, thin policeman stepped in front of Caerys as she bustled through towards the car, just visible at the end of the street.
“I need my car.” She pointed to it. “My friend’s been hurt, I need to get him to a hospital.” Behind her, Gavin hunched – not entirely acting – on Sophie’s support, causing her to stumble over the rain-slicked cobbled road under the unfamiliar weight.
“Jesus…” the policeman muttered, seeing the blood soaking into Gavin’s shirt. “Come on then.”
Lifting one of the bollards that held the reflective tape serving as a barrier, he gesture to Caerys, and she ran to the car. Grinding the gears as she put it into reverse she quickly drew level with the policeman – almost knocking into him in her haste – and then got out to help Sophie put Gavin in. They struggled with the weight until the policeman gave them a hand.
“You know where the hospital is?” he asked, watching with some relief as Sophie headed for the driver’s seat.
“Oui.” She told him. “Sorry, yes, Monsieur.” An American and a Frenchwoman, given the situation, weren’t the most significantly unusual things he’d seen, and he brushed past them easily as the car pulled away past the growing cavalcade of emergency and media vehicles heading for the usually quiet village.
“Which way?” Sophie asked, reaching the first junction, not recognising the names on the signs.
“Left.” Gavin told her, and Sophie pulled away concentrated on staying the correct side of the road.
“Hang on…” Caerys muttered, looking around, “this is heading back towards the house.”
“Christophe’s there.” Gavin confirmed. “We’ll be safe…”
“You need a hospital!”
“I need a rest.” He corrected her, coughing hard as the car rumbled over a cattle-grid, drawing a frown from Sophie. “I already have a doctor after all…”
Caerys fell silent, and Gavin silently directed Sophie with gestures as he wheezed his breathing.
“We’re being followed again…” Caerys muttered, breaking the silence.
“I don’t see anyone…” Sophie replied, checking the mirrors.
“They’re there… closing…”
“Check for… a helicopter…” Gavin muttered, but neither of them could make anything out staring up as Sophie pulled the wheel hard to turn the car into the gravelled drive of his house.
“They’re getting closer.” Caerys warned, as they got out the car, Gavin stumbling and dropping to his knees as he approached the door.
“Get in.” he gasped, punching the code into the keypad by the door as the noise of cars sounded up the drive. “In and left…” he pointed to the recess he’d pushed Christophe into before they left. Sophie crushed herself in, uncomfortably, and felt the floor suddenly drop away as the recess fell. Caerys squealed as she disappeared, then stared as, moments later, the recess reappeared without Sophie.
“Go.” Gavin told her, forcing the door shut.
“I smell gas.” Caerys told him, slowing near the ‘lift’.
“I know. Hurry.” She stepped in, fitting more comfortably with her thinner figure, and braced herself for the drop.
“Charisma…” Gavin wheezed, as the first thump hit the door as someone tried to break in.
“Yes, Gavin.” Came the reply as he stepped onto the lift.
“Blow it.” The lift dropped, and the house disintegrated as the gas ignited.
Sutton, Surrey, November 24th
“Christophe!” Sophie squealed her delight as she was pitched off the descending platform, into the broad, square room where her son sat in a large, black-leather chair.
“Maman!” he jumped up, crossing the space to her quickly, and jumping into her arms as Caerys arrived behind her.
“Did you smell gas?” she demanded, as she watched the platform rise.
“Gas? Yes, now that you mention it…” she muttered, sideways, quickly checking Christophe for signs of injury or damage as he stood quietly and patiently. Above them, a thunderous crack of power sounded, raining dust from the ceiling down on them, as Gavin appeared in the lift which dropped harshly to a halt.
“Honey,” he wheezed, slumping to the floor. “I’m home.”
“Shit!” Caerys turned back to him, devoid of ideas as Sophie slipped past, quickly checking his pulse and breathing as best she could without instruments.
“He’s weak.” She muttered. “He should be dead already…”
“Charisma.” Christophe called out, quietly.
“Yes, Christophe.” The disembodied voice replied.
“Is there a first aid kit here?”
“Medical supplies are in the hallway between the gym and the kitchen.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Caerys looked about, seeking signs of a camera.
“Caerys, mind your language please.” Sophie whispered, arranging Gavin’s limbs on the floor, pressing along his chest gently to find the fracture. Christophe appeared at her side, towing a large chest with a red cross on it, that Sophie hurriedly opened. Inside were the usual bandages and anti-septic ointments she might have expected from a home first-aid kit, but also there were suture kits, inflatable splints, anti-biotics and several vials of labelled tablets and liquids labelled as inoculations for various diseases.
“Est-il bien?” Christophe whispered.
“Je ne sais pas, Christophe.” She replied, quietly, looking up at Caerys, and realising she didn’t understand. “I don’t know how well he is. Why don’t you go sit down, Caerys and I have some work to do.”
“We do?”
“Oui, Maman.”
“I need to examine him properly. Did you see a bed, anywhere?”
“There’s a bedroom through there.” Christophe pointed behind her, to a door in the wall beside the lift.
“Let’s get him in there, first.”
“Is it safe to lift him?” Caerys wondered, aloud.
“I think so, he was walking, talking, I don’t think there’s any spinal injuries, no marks on his head. The rib might move, but it’s already scored his lung, the sooner we can lay him somewhere soft the better.”
“Alright.” After their first, abortive attempt to lift him, they satisfied themselves with dragging him through to the bedroom, and dragging the mattress down to the floor for him.
“Now, take off his shirt.” Sophie returned for the chest, dragging it behind her as well, as Christophe watched.
Caerys peeled the blood-soaked garment off his chest, admiring the lean, taut musculature as she did, seeing the unconscious wince on his face as she moved him.
“Sorry…” she whispered, and the wince disappeared, though she didn’t know if that were the words or just that she stopped moving him. The long wound on his side still seeped blood – part of it, she was sure, from where she’d removed the shirt.
“Now his trousers.” Sophie told her, slipping on a pair of latex gloves from the chest, frowning slightly when she realised how much bigger than her hands they were.
“Trousers?” Caerys paused a moment. “Oh, his pants, right.”
“Well, we’ll see. Trousers for now.” Sophie explained, and began cataloguing his injuries. The rib was obvious now, the expanding bruise below his arm-pit showing up clearly, as was the long laceration on his hip. Less obvious, though, were the plethora of scars and blemishes that showed a long history of injuries and wounds, some stitched and treated neatly and well, others less well. Two large, round scars on his chest showed what she thought were bullet wounds, but there was no evidence of the shot that had hit him earlier.
Caerys finished stripping the denim away from his legs, and Sophie spared a glance for a number of other scars and wounds – a long knife wound and what looked like a dog-bite stood out to her – before she decided on her treatment.
“Caerys… get some of those wipes, I need you to clean all the cloth fibres out of that knife wound.” She pointed, and Caerys blanched a little.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Caerys, please… just clean it. Use some gloves if you need to. There are some tweezers in there, too, they might help.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to set his rib right.” She pointed to the bruise. Reaching out, she watched his reaction as she pressed against it, and Caerys drew her hands back sharply as he groaned and shifted. “Keep going, that was me.” Sophie told her, her tone clipped and professional, her mind absorbed in the task as she dipped a hand into the chest, rummaging briefly for the vial she wanted, and opening up a sealed syringe.
“What’s that?” Caerys asked, shaking hands unsuccessfully trying to guide the tweezers in on a pieces of fabric.
“Anaesthetic.” She replied, and jabbed it into his arm. “This should be done by an anaesthetist.” She pointed out.
“I don’t think there’s one of those in the chest.” Caerys observed, wryly, taking confidence from the calm way Sophie went about her tasks.
“No.” Sophie managed a half-smile and began. It was several minutes before she felt the sudden ease of pressure, and smoothed her hand along the curve, feeling it smooth and even.
“How are you doing?” She turned to look at Caerys, seeing the small pile of cloth fibres on the edge of the sheet, and the sweat streaking Caerys’ face as she concentrated on her task.
“Just this bit to go…” she whispered, the strain obvious in her voice, and Sophie reached over, gently taking the tweezers from her.
“I’ll get it, now.” She said, and Caerys slumped backwards, kneeling nearby and massaging the protesting muscles at the small of her back as Sophie carried on.
Sutton, Surrey, November 24th
Sophie stumbled out of the bedroom, finally, kneading her lower back, to find Caerys wrapping a blanket round Christophe curled up on the chair.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Gone ten.” Caerys told her, turning. “Did you want a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.” Sophie managed a wan smile.
“There’s a sitting room through there,” she pointed, “and a kitchen through there.”
“What is this place?”
“I don’t know…” she looked around at the sterile steel décor and the computer equipment of the main room. “Survival bunker of some sort, I guess. There’s three bedrooms, a gym… all sorts.” She moved through to the kitchen, and Sophie shuffled through behind her. “How is he?”
“Comfortable, I think.” Sophie managed, slumping onto a stool at the counter and resting her forehead on her hands. “I’ve stitched his side, and his rib is strapped up – I couldn’t see anything else wrong.”
“And how are you?”
“Tired.” She admitted, trying to stretch the kinks out of her back. The tea was warm rather than hot, and Sophie gulped it down quickly, slumping her head onto the counter.
“Come on, don’t go to sleep there.” Caerys chivvied her to her feet, and guided her through to the room with the double bed. “Off with that shirt.” Clumsily, sleepily, Sophie struggled with the buttons until Caerys reached down to help her, and stripped off the blood-stained garment.
Without the work, bereft of something to occupy her mind, Sophie finally sat and began to recount the events of the day, weeping softly as Caerys slipped her dirty trousers away, trying not to notice the curves of the flesh being revealed.
“What’s happening?” she sobbed, clutching at Caerys shoulders as she came back up, and Caerys tried to keep herself under control as she slipped up alongside her.
“I don’t know, Soph.” She whispered back, stroking her hair. “It’s… there’s so many things I don’t understand. My father… the soldiers…”
“Gavin.” Sophie added, resting her head on Caerys’ shoulder. “He should be dead. He’s not only alive, he was fighting…”
“And winning.” Caerys noted, hesitantly, trembling, reaching for Sophie’s bra strap and undoing it, then forcing herself away to the cupboard. “Here, put this on to sleep in.” she tossed an oversized shirt across the bed, averting her eyes with a guilty flush.
“Thank you.” Sophie buttoned it up slowly and eased herself flat on the bed with a groan.
“Are you alright?”
“My back aches.” Sophie muttered, trying to find somewhere comfortable to lie.
“Come on, roll over.” Caerys whispered. “You’re tired, and we’ve had a long day – yours longer than mine.”
“What are you doing?” Sophie asked, as Caerys got up onto the bed beside her.
“Look, I’m… Gavin can fight, and you’re a Doctor. I can’t do much, but I give a mean back-rub.” Positioning herself carefully over Sophie’s back, nestling her thighs into the curves above her hips, she reached down and began to ease her thumbs into the knotted muscles of Sophie’s spine, eliciting a groan of relief.
“Where did you get so good at this?” she asked, as Caerys shifted her weight a little and began working a little higher.
“I used to have to do this at…” Caerys trailed off with a slight smile, knowing she was free of that now. “Just… doesn’t matter.”
“At home?” Sophie pressed, as one of her vertebrae realigned with an audible click and another pleased groan.
“Yeah. It… it was one of the things I was expected to do.”
“One of.”
“Don’t, please.”
“Caerys…”
“No, please, Sophie. I’m free of it now, I just want to forget that it happened.”
“You know you can’t do that, don’t you?” She carried on in silence, working up Sophie’s back until it became clear Sophie was about to ask again.
“Yeah, alright, I know.” She admitted, with a little bitterness. “Can’t I just have a little time with the illusion? I was their whore, OK. I had to what they said, when they said, whether I wanted to or not. Nothing was mine, not my body, not my time, not even my freedom to keep my mouth shut when I wanted…”
Sophie rolled sideways, pitching her off and onto the bed, staring into her eyes as she started to curl up.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t… I can’t imagine someone doing that.”
“It…” Caerys started to shout, but Sophie’s hand pressed to her lips, silencing her.
“I believe you, that’s not… I’m sorry, I’m thinking in French, but speaking in English, it doesn’t always work. I can’t understand how someone could do that to another person, especially their own child.”
“Yeah, well… I don’t need to imagine, I’m trying to forget.”
“I won’t talk about it again.” Sophie assured her, reaching out to hug her gently. The pair remained there, wrapped up in the warmth and support, for the rest of the night.
Sutton, Surrey, November 25th
Gavin awoke slowly, taking a gradual catalogue of his condition, opening his eyes slowly as he tried to reconcile his memory with the position he found himself in. He tracked his thought back to the lift, and nothing more, and quickly realised he was strapped up securely and neatly stitched – neater than he usually managed himself.
Struggling to his feet he tested his balance carefully before he stood upright, and made his way to the door. It clicked gently open, and Christophe sat up suddenly from his chair, stretching out and staring wide-eyed at Gavin in the doorway.
“Maman!” he called, quietly, turning around and looking for her, raising his voice. “MAMAN!” Sophie burst out the door of the main bedroom in one of Gavin’s shirts, barely covering her hips and she stopped suddenly as she saw him leaning against the door-jamb.
“You shouldn’t be up, yet.” She pointed out, moving quickly across to him, but he was far more stable than she expected. He kept the door closed, though, just his head and shoulder poking out.
“I’ll be fine.” He managed, still hesitant. “I need to eat, and drink.” He sniffed, obviously. “And shower.”
“Go and lie down,” Sophie told him, gently, pausing short of his position, confused. “I’ll… I’ll bring you some breakfast, and check how you are.”
“I’m fine.” He pointed out, a little testily. “I can get my own breakfast – thank you – but… I need to get to the toilet, too.” He pointed across the hall.
“Go on, then.” Caerys smirked, leant up against the wall opposite him, also in one of his shirts. Taller than Sophie, it rested half-way down her hips, showing off her long legs and the bottom of her panties, but she didn’t seem to care.
“I’d rather have a little privacy.” He pointed out.
“Oh, are you embarrassed to be seen in your underwear?” Caerys smirked. “I don’t see why, we’re not better dressed than you are.” Sophie seemed to realise this as she spoke, and spun away, clamping the bottom of the shirt down tight and hustling back to the bedroom, dragging Caerys with her.
“Hurry up.” She snapped at Gavin, and disappeared back into the bedroom, flushing scarlet as she did. With the door pushed shut, Gavin emerged to lope gracefully across the room, and Caerys stood at the door watching him with a slight smile, admiring the taut lines of his body as he did.
“So why did you rush off so quick?” she turned, to look at Sophie sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why? He… I was… Look at me.” She pointed to the shirt, then looked over at Caerys. “Look at you!”
“I’m used to being looked at.” Caerys pointed out, with a shrug. “Wearing less than this, a lot of the time.”
“Well I’m not… I don’t want him… thinking… not like that, anyway. Not about me.” Caerys smiled, gently, doing just that: looking, and thinking. “I don't want him thinking of you like that,either.” She added, and guilt suddenly flooded through Caerys.
“I… I think I should go to the other bedroom.” She muttered.
“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.” Sophie misunderstood, rising to her feet, quickly.
“You didn’t.” Caerys assured her, with a smile. “I did.”
“Don’t… thank you. You trusted me with this, and you stayed last night when I needed someone to talk to. You don’t have to go.”
“If you don’t want people looking at you, Soph, and thinking like that, as you put it… I should go, before you get dressed.”
“Oh.” Sophie stopped, a few paces short of her, and stared wide-eyed for a moment.
“That’s what I thought.” Slipping out the door, she disappeared up the corridor to the unused room, flushing darkly herself, and settled onto the bed, curling up into a ball as she did.
Sophie hurried through the cupboard, grabbing what clothing she could find that would fit – cinching a belt tightly around a pair of shorts that hung down to her knees, and emerged to find Gavin sat in the chair in the middle of the room, struggling to remove the strapping around his chest.
“Leave that alone!” she snapped, pushing his hands away.
“I can’t breathe properly with that damned thing on.” He snapped back, tearing the last pieces away and tossing it to the floor, leaving Sophie gasping at him.
“Qu’est-que tu?” she hissed, lifting his arm as he stared at her. The bruise across his ribs was practically gone, and the skin at his hip had already knit almost completely. “This isn’t right… what are you?”
“Hungry.” He explained, with a deep frown. “Did you want anything?”
“STOP!” She screamed, grabbing his arm as he tried to slip past her and dragging him to a halt. Caerys burst from her room, still half-dressed, and a wide-eyed Christophe peered out from the room Gavin had spent the night in. “Enough, Gavin. We need to know what you know… what you are… who you are. This is… I just want to know.”
“Me too.” Caerys put in, edging out of her room, unsure what she was going to find.
“I want to know, too.” Gavin admitted, easing her hand from his wrist, gently. “I have questions, and I don’t think any of us have all the answers. We’ll have breakfast, and talk. We’ll have to head out, when it’s safe, and see if we can’t find some clothes for you both.
Please Sophie, believe me: I don’t know why I heal this quickly, I always have.”
She stared at him for a few moments, then slumped a little, leaving him to make his way to the kitchen.
“Maman?” Christophe emerged slowly, cutting off Caerys’ approach, leaving her isolated in the middle of the floor.
“It’s alright, Christophe.” She told him, reaching out to him and scooping him off the floor gently. “It’s alright.”
“Is it?” Caerys asked, hugging herself gently as the pair walked past her, headed for the kitchen. She didn’t turn, didn’t want to look as Sophie stopped, and she felt a warm hand clasp hers.
“It is. Some of this is just coming as a surprise, that’s all.” She turned, then, and saw Sophie’s gentle smile for her. “We’re all learning about each other, we’ll get there in the end.”
“Ok.” Caerys acknowledged that, hearing the denial hidden in there. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright, really. Get dressed, and come and have some breakfast.”
Sutton, Surrey, November 25th
Gavin neatly worked his way through a hefty breakfast, having drawn a pile of food from a freezer, as Caerys picked away at some toast, and Sophie guiltily tucked into sausages and eggs.
“Let’s go sit in the main room.” Gavin pointed, dragging two of the stools behind him as he finished up, and the rest came with him. “Christophe, did you want to watch television?” Gavin pointed him in the direction of the sitting room, and he dashed through gladly.
“What’s that?” Sophie asked Caerys, who dragged a pad and pen with her as she followed them into the main room. She turned it round to show a few hurried sketches of the various figures that had accosted them. “They’re good, do you draw often?”
“A little. Just sketches, mainly.” She admitted, as Gavin manhandled the chairs into position.
“Alright,” he waited until they sat and then took the remaining seat, his big black leather armchair. “Let’s start with Caerys. Your father…” he paused, and she chuckled, gently.
“I don’t have any problems shopping him, G… is your name really Gavin?” he froze, briefly, staring at the pair of them.
“Yes and no.” he admitted. “I was adopted, so I don’t know what name I was born with. Nowadays… now I just have whichever name is appropriate at the time.”
“What do you think of yourself as?” Caerys chased him down. “I mean… what name do you use for yourself?”
“Whatever fits.” He said, and held up a hand as she started to argue. “I’m not being funny or evasive… names are like… like shirts. You wear whichever one you need at the time. I have to think of myself as whatever’s on my passport or driver’s license or whatever, I don’t know when I might get caught out, otherwise.”
“Who’s Charisma?” Sophie cut in, turning him the other way, and he smiled gently as he shook his head. “OK, we’ll find out about me first, then… Charisma is my computer system, an artificial intelligence.”
“She… it… talks?” Caerys seemed incredulous. “It’s like she’s alive. Does she pass the Turing test?”
“It’s probably the most advanced AI in the world he acknowledged, with a shrug. The Turing test is a bit subjective, really – it’s an opinion, nothing more – but I think she would, yes.”
“Where… she was talking to you in France.” Sophie pointed out. “And she’s here…”
“Charisma… she’s a distributed system. The processing power required to generate an intelligence like hers is incredible. The processing is spread across the internet, she lives in the links between places, stores memories and ideas across the world and accesses them when needed.” They paused for a moment, thinking about that.
“Is that how you made your money?” Caerys asked.
“Not through Charisma, exactly, no.” he clarified. “I was a computer programmer, I developed artificial intelligence systems for a number of contractors – mainly in the defence industries – after I left the marines. It was while I was doing that work that I ‘found’ Charisma.”
“You didn’t create her?” Sophie struggled to keep up with the fast flowing English.
“No, she... I guess she evolved. She’s… do you know what makes humans intelligent in the way that, say, monkeys aren’t?” They both shook their heads.
“Neither does anyone else, really. The brains appear fundamentally the same, but something about the way the bits of it work with each other give humans something extra – it’s called an emergent behaviour. Well, Charisma, as far as I can tell, is an emergent behaviour of the internet. All those processing elements linked up, they created something extra in the middle – Charisma.”
The two women fell silent as they digested that, and he gave them a few minutes, staring at the sketches Caerys had made.
“My father reckoned they were half-trolls.” Caerys interrupted him, pointing over the top of the page. “I don’t know what those ones with the stretched skulls are, though.”
“That’s what I saw in the tank in Paris.” Sophie pointed out.
“Well, amateur dramatics notwithstanding,” Gavin got up, pushing the paper onto a scanner on the nearby desk, “they’re both essentially human, from what I can see.” He looked over at Sophie for confirmation, and she nodded hesitantly.
“These ones,” he pointed to a screen where the ‘half-troll’ image appeared, “have the same skeletal and muscular system as a human, just overdeveloped. These ones, with the stretched-skulls, I’m not so sure of, I’ve not come across one of them yet.”
“I think they were human, once.” Sophie muttered, looking pale. “The one in the tank… it… the eyes were human, I don’t know about the rest.”
“Well… if you shoot them, they go down, that’s the important thing.” Neither Sophie nor Caerys thought so, but neither of them mentioned it as he settled.
“Now, we need to get supplies. Food’s short, and you guys both need clothes.”
Guildford, Surrey, November 25th
Early on a Thursday afternoon in November, Gavin decided as he pulled the car into the first empty spot he found in the car park, the town should be far less heavily populated than it was. Christophe had been keen to park out of town and go in on the tram system, but Gavin preferred to keep the car close to hand. Sophie had almost balked at seeing Gavin slip a pistol into his waist-band, but she kept her mouth shut and his silent nod had been the only communication on the issue.
Trekking through the unfamiliar shops, Gavin led them to a large department store somewhere in a bland, faceless, brightly lit mall, fronted by pale, yellowed plants in heavy tubs. Leading them in, he moved quickly through to the ladies-wear section, and was surprised as Christophe slumped past him to plop down on a nearby seat.
“Tired?” Gavin asked him, as the ladies moved slowly through the racks.
“Not yet.” He muttered, but before Gavin could ask what he meant, Sophie came back with a skirt and top placing them up against herself and looking in the nearby mirror.
“Well?” she asked, looking at him.
“Well what?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s a skirt and a top. Did you want them?”
“You’re not being much help, you know. How do they look?”
“They look fine.” She just stared at him a little, and frowned.
“Fine? Is that it?”
“What did you want?”
“An opinion.”
“That was an opinion.”
“You’re useless.”
“Glad to be of help.” He looked down at Christophe. “Do you get this?” The boy just nodded, and Caerys returned with three outfits, the total material of which probably didn’t match up to Sophie’s single set.
“What do you think?” she quickly paraded them before him.
“You do know what the weather’s like in Britain in November, don’t you?” he asked, after a few seconds.
“You think I’ll need a coat, too?”
“I think you’ll need a skirt, or trousers.” He clarified.
“I’ve got two skirts.” She pulled them out of the pile on the chair, neither of them more than a foot long.
“That’s a skirt?” She gave him a level stare, face darkening, but he forged on. “Look, I know you’re an American, but you could at least pretend to have a little class.”
“Fuck off!” she snapped, and Sophie placed her hands over Christophe’s ears.
“We are trying not to stand out, Caerys…” she put in, gently, trying to calm the situation
“I don’t like to disillusion you two Victorians, but people do actually wear skirts that end above the knee these days and, guess what…” she paused. “They don’t get arrested. Gasp!”
“Caerys…”
“No, not this time, Sophie.” She rounded on Gavin, her hair flicking out as she whipped around. “Come on then, what do you mean, ‘pretend to have a little class?’ Is this not good enough for you? Is it beneath you to be seen with someone dressed like this?” She held the goods in front of herself, inviting inspection of the outfit.
“It’s beneath you to dress like that.” He snapped back, looking about to see if she was drawing too much attention. Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth. “You can do better than that.” Turning away he saw Sophie barely suppressing a laugh. “What?” he demanded, and that just set her off again, and after a few seconds Caerys joined her.
“You really think I can do better than this?” she muttered, blushing. He nodded. “Like what?”
“Well… I don’t know, I’m not a bloody fashion designer.” He muttered, now completely lost.
“Quick enough to judge, though.” She observed.
“Well… alright, how about that?” he pointed to a nearby rack, and Sophie cut in.
“I don’t think so. That’s for a different shape entirely.”
“Your shape?” Caerys asked, earning herself a brief smile and a nod. “God, I wish I had boobs.”
“Come on, we’ll find something.” Sophie assured her, leaving Gavin hunkering his head further down between his shoulders wondering just how long this was going to take.
“You’d better sit down.” Christophe told him, quietly. “This usually takes a while.”
“How long?”
“Hours, sometimes.”
“Hours? I can fill a suitcase and be on my way in twenty minutes.” Christophe’s only response was a pronounced, and obviously practiced, Gallic shrug.
Sutton, Surrey, November 25th
“We’re here.” Gavin pointed out, when they made no effort to get out of the car.
“Where? I thought we were heading back to that bunker place?” Caerys looked around, confused.
“We are, this is the Crofter’s Lodge I told you about, on the south end of the estate.”
“We aren’t going back through the house?” Sophie asked.
“The house is gone.” He pointed to where a slight smudge of smoke still rose through the trees. “It was filled with gas, and then detonated once we were in the bunker.”
“And the ladder we used to get out?” I figured it’d be easier getting this lot back in with some steps – there’s a basement to the Lodge, and a false wall that opens into the bunker.”
“Did you build this?” Christophe asked.
“No, the underground complex was created during the Civil War for use as a secret armoury by Royalists. It was cleaned out and hidden during the 1800’s for hiding slaves after the slave-trade was abolished for a while. I came here about six years ago, and it was being used for slavery again – shipping women out of Eastern Europe for…” he cut off, staring down at Christophe, then over to Sophie who nodded her thanks. “… well, slavery, anyway. Once I’d cleaned the place out I bought it at auction – even the sellers didn’t realise this bit was here – and moved in.”
“That explains the multiple rooms.” Caerys muttered. “I didn’t picture you for one to have guests over.”
“No.” he admitted, looking slightly distant. “Come on.”
“Sorry,” Caerys stepped in front of him, “I didn’t mean anything by that… it’s…”
“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed her aside. Sophie nudged herself in beside Caerys with an understanding smile that told her it mattered a lot.
“Is he alright?” Caerys asked her, as Christophe trailed off behind him, ferrying food.
“I don’t know. He’s been… I hesitate to say it, but I think it’s been a bit too normal for him.”
“Too normal?”
“Shopping, with people. Talking, doing everyday things… he’s not… Your life has been unusual, but it’s been based around everyday life. His hasn’t, he’s completely… outside… I don’t know how to say it in English.”
“It’s OK, I get the picture.” Caerys nodded, a little thoughtful. “Like visiting a foreign country, I suppose. Everything’s the same, but a little bit different.”
“Like the shops here.” Sophie agreed.
“The houses… and the trees.” Caerys added.
“Were you two coming?” Gavin asked, returning for more bags from the back of the car. “Or were you waiting for room-service to take your bags to your rooms.”
“That sounds good, thank you.” Caerys strode away towards the steps with her head in the air, leaving Sophie laughing behind her.
“You asked for that one.” She told him, as she followed. “Now you’ll have to remember whose bags were whose, won’t you?”
“Thanks.” He offered, dryly, and loaded Christophe up with more food as he returned.
Down in the bunker, Caerys had actually moved into the kitchen to put away the food that Gavin had already brought down, which took some of the sting out of her actions, and by the time Gavin trailed down with the clothes, she took her bags from him, and went off to her room.
“Is anyone hungry?” Gavin asked, as Sophie trailed past him, nudging a tired looking Christophe before her.
“No, we’re alright.” She assured him, and Caerys’ muffled no sounded out from her room, so he turned to make himself something, and headed out to the main room to sit and think.
“Christophe’s asleep.” Sophie told him, emerging wrapped in a long robe from the double-bedroom.
“Ok.” He nodded, wondering why she’d said it.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” He stared at her, stood in the middle of the room, looking slightly lost. “You?”
“I haven’t been shot.” She pointed out. “You should still be in bed unable to stand.”
“I know.” He admitted, looking away. “I… I don’t have an explanation for you.”
“I know you don’t.” she managed a feeble smile, and began playing with the belt on her robe.
“I wasn’t actually ‘shot’ you know.” He pointed out. “The bullet must have hit that amulet Caerys is so hung up on… good that it worked for something.”
“Even the knife wound should have kept you in pain for now… it’s almost gone.” He reached up to where she’d pulled the stitches out earlier that day and all he could do was shrug.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Alright.” He nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She disappeared back into the room she shared with Christophe, and he settled back into the chair thinking back.
The bullet hit him in the chest, puncturing through the skin and shattering his sternum like a fragmentation grenade, bits and pieces of sharp bone shredding through his lungs and heart in an instant of burning pain and sudden weakness. Hard brickwork punched him in the back as he struck the wall, and his legs gave out suddenly.
Sound was gone, and his vision was blurring around the panicked faces of Caerys and Sophie staring at him. “Go…” he tried to tell them, but nothing came out, and grey came in, flooding his senses and his body and his mind…
… and flooded out again. Light poured down across the quiet alley, and he struggled to breathe against the liquid in his lungs, coughing up gouts of blood as he finally managed to get air in. Puffing, wheezing, tired in a way he couldn’t ever remember having been before, he rolled to his hands and knees, reliving the shot, knowing he’d been hit, reaching up to feel for the hole and catching his hand on the unfamiliar knife at his belt.
Shaking himself out of the reverie he stood up, walking across to the monitor and opening up the front of his shirt, pressing his finger over the round scar there, knowing it hadn’t been there the previous morning, wondering what it meant.
“Gavin?” he spun around, nervous, staring at Sophie once more stood outside her room.
“Uh… yeah?”
“When… when you got shot.” He backed up a little, wondering how she knew what he’d been thinking.
“Yeah.”
“You were hit twice.”
“No, that one in my shoulder’s an old scar.” He pointed out.
“No, one hit you in the leg… it… it splashed.” He shook his head, not remembering that.
“Right.”
“When we got back here, there wasn’t a wound in your leg.” Silence fell over them for a moment, and all he could do was shrug.
“I don’t know what happened.” He admitted. “I heal quick… I broke my arm when I was twelve, fell out of a tree. I was back up in the tree the next day. It’s always been like that.”
She just nodded and stood a moment. “Aren’t you going to bed?”
“I… there are some things I have to get done first.” He demurred, moving back to the chair, and he watched her hesitantly walk along to the next door.
“That’s not the bathroom,” he pointed out, that’s Caerys' room. She turned, blushing, and stared levelly at him.
“I know.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat, and she gave him a little smile.
“Goodnight, Gavin.”
“G’night.”