This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Stuart Kenyon 2019

Copyright© Stuart Kenyon 2019

Stuart Kenyon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Cover Design by The Book Khaleesi  www.thebookkhaleesi.com

For Vicky, Max and Poppy

With thanks to Mistral Dawn

Thank you for purchasing Dead or Buried. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

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Chapter 28

They're coming.

The footfalls are too numerous to count. Doors rattle. Wooden beams creak as the pressure mounts. From outside: footsteps, stumbles, the rustle of clothes as bodies jostle. It's getting dark; the sun is sinking below the horizon, abandoning John and his friends to their fate. Through keyholes and cracks the stench – decay, burning oil – seeps into the building, overpowering that of the mildew which claimed the bar long ago.

John wipes sweat from his brow and exchanges glances with his comrades. Their faces are taut, tired of the running, tired of the fighting. Tired of watching their fellow humans perish at the hands of electronically reanimated undead. Of course, it's not electricity that will galvanise the fugitives for another defence. Adrenaline will fuel their shoulders, swing their bats, shovels and two-by-fours. Hopefully, they'll survive.

The first window gives way with a tinkle of broken glass. Arms reach between the iron bars. Jay, grimacing, chops at the wrists with his axe. A dismembered hand lands on the floor, fingers still twitching.

‘Leave them!’ John says. He's the oldest of the crew. ‘They can't get through the bars, so let them waste their time.’

A face appears between the bars. Teeth bared as if hateful, eyes blank as if indifferent. It headbutts the bars over and over, until its dead flesh clings to the metal.

More thuds sound from the front door. But the assault is not heavy. Earlier, the group saw the host approach; there were at least two hundred zomb-augs. So why are so few of them trying to gain entry? A bang from behind the counter answers John's question.

‘The cellar!’ Helen screams. ‘They're in the cellar!’

Oh, shit.

***

John woke with a start. He was perspiring as if he'd been battling the undead for real. He cast aside his sheets and took a sip of water from the glass on his nightstand. Despite everything he'd endured over the last few weeks, it was the trauma of life on the run in New York City, over a year ago, that haunted his dreams. Killing Silas, getting shot, the zomb horde at Stone Point – they all paled into insignificance when compared to the bloodbaths he witnessed in NYC.

So. The NYC AugFrees weren't really prisoners. John had feared the worst when they were captured by armed men, and Blanchflower's welcome had done nothing to allay his concerns.

But neither he, Amber, Cait, T, Curls nor Cyril were incarcerated. They could come and go as they pleased. If they so desired, as of last night, they were allowed to leave Neraka, though re-entry was not guaranteed. Without ceremony, an army officer had visited to advise that their week-long “inoculation” period was over. He'd presumably given Cyril, who was quartered elsewhere in the underground city, the same message. They hadn't seen their former comrade since they were sequestered by the president's soldiers.

T was still asleep, snoring. His cot, standard-sized, was too short, so his gargantuan feet, ankles and a few centimetres of his shins were uncovered by quilt.

John checked his watch. It was eight AM. Although he knew he should get up and call in on Amber, the conversation they'd shared the previous evening was playing on his mind. Once the others had retired, they'd discussed the future. Recent events had brought them closer, and the instant chemistry between them was now a mutual attraction. But the frenetic pace of life had also prevented the pair from developing as a couple. Amber was, as a result, wary of committing. Plus, she had her own intimacy issues with which to deal. Yet John wanted them to spend more time together. To live as normally as was possible in a subterranean settlement with two hundred thousand inhabitants. She was undecided.

‘Fucksake, John.’ Talking to himself was a habit he'd picked up when living alone at Asquith Robotics. ‘Get a grip of yourself.’ He got up, showered – hygienospheres were only owned by the most important AugFrees – and dressed. Wincing, he flexed his right bicep. Although the arm injury, Silas’s parting gift, was getting better, it ached in the mornings.

Every day, despite T’s company, he was glad to escape his cramped, soulless room. Motion-sensing lights illuminated corridor L13: the thoroughfare was deserted. The ten metre walk to Amber’s room took an age. Trepidation slowed his hand as he made to knock on the door. Hopefully, Curls and Cait would be awake, and the potentially difficult conversation between John and the object of his affections would be postponed. He rapped too quietly at first; he had to try again before he heard movement.

Amber answered. ‘Hi, come in. Cait and Curls are out for a run. They asked if we wanted to go, but I figured pounding the corridors first thing in the morning wasn't your thing.’

‘You figured right.’ Self-consciously, John tried for a casual smile. He followed her into the three-berth apartment and accepted a mug of steaming coffee. ‘You been up for a while?’

‘Half an hour or so, why?’

‘Just… your hair. Looks like you've spent time on it. Looks… nice.’

‘Thank you. How's your arm?’

‘Sore, but getting better.’

‘Good.’

They said nothing for a moment, each sipping their beverage. John expected the silence to be awkward, but it wasn't. It was companionable. He felt he should speak, though, and he worried that she would start to talk at the same time, meaning one of those cringeworthy “you first — no, you first” scenarios the old movies favoured.

‘Want to go for a walk?’ she asked, taking him by surprise.

‘Sure. Where to?’ He drained his cup.

‘The park’s about as scenic as it gets, isn't it?’

‘Lead on, then.’

The word “park” had, in John's experience, never before been used with such inaccuracy. A five minute walk from their corridor, it was usually busy later in the day. And John didn't know why. It was a riot of scrap metal rusted beyond usefulness, disused plastic and rotten timber. Crudely painted, the hodge-podge of trash was divided into four distinct sections. The easternmost quarter, which covered about five thousand square-metres, was a mock-up of an olde-worlde English country garden. An emerald carpet represented a lawn. Twisted shards of iron sprayed to resemble flowers were liberally planted along the edges of the paths. Columns of stacked barrels represented trees, with paper leaves on wire branches completing the effect. The ceiling was painted blue, with the odd cloud here and there. It was as tawdry as it was popular.

After a moment’s strolling, Amber laughed.

‘What?’ John asked.

‘Your face. It's not that bad!’

‘It's pretty bad.’

‘Yeah. But it has a certain charm, don't you think?’

‘Hmm. I hear the park in Asgard is meant to be better?’

‘Well, what do you expect?’ Amber moved closer to John to allow another couple to pass. ‘That's where the upper-classes live.’

‘Upper-classes?’ John affected a look of outrage. ‘There are no classes in Neraka.’

‘“Everyone is AugFree, everyone is equal,”’ Amber parroted. ‘So they won't mind if we visit their little utopia, then.’

‘Can't see why. Let's go and see.’

‘Maybe later. We could all go as a group? Catch the u-bus.’

‘Sure. Just need to get our security clearance upgraded.’ John was about to suggest that they go alone when a group of young men appeared. Early hour notwithstanding, they appeared to be intoxicated. One of the five, the largest, carried a fake coconut, which he was attempting to spin on his finger. They'd evidently come through the Tropical Garden. As they passed John and Amber, they leered at the latter and scowled at the former in turn. ‘Fucking robot-lovers,’ the biggest said before spitting.

John exhaled through his nose. They'd received dirty looks whilst out and about. But this was the first insult thrown their way.

‘Ignore them, John,’ Amber said, taking her own advice.

‘Pisses me off, though.’ He walked faster. ‘Cyril should've been locked up for what he and Gideon did. But no, he's suddenly gained himself a load of new friends.’

‘Would you want friends like that, though?’

‘No, but still.’

‘And he would be locked up. But Curls is just a kid.’

‘She's survived the apocalypse, she can't be that fragile.’

‘Big difference between fighting for your life and going in front of a judge. Survival is an instinct, plus she's had others around her, helping her. Testifying takes a different kind of strength.’

They were about to pass under the arch which marked the boundary between the Country Garden and the Tropical Garden. ‘I know,’ John said after a pause. ‘I know. Just… seems unfair.’

‘That's life, John.’ Amber grimaced at the sudden cacophony as faux-oaks became faux-palms. The simulated soundtrack here – peacock shrills, cricket chirrups and the occasional snarl of a jaguar or leopard – was far louder than the gentle birdsong, cow lows and sheep bleats of rural England. Somewhere in the undergrowth there was a stirring. Real movement, too, a squirrel or rabbit, perhaps. A rat emerged from the shrubbery. ‘Look!’ John pointed. ‘Gideon’s been reincarnated!’

Amber chuckled and carried on. ‘I hope she'll be okay. Curls, I mean. Juarez wasn't really close to anyone, but she always got upset when anyone died. And to see him gunned down by his supposed friends…’

‘She'll be okay. She'll have to be. What choice does she have?’

‘Suppose no one's coming out of this without PTSD. If we come out of it.’

‘Well.’ John risked an arm around Amber’s shoulders. ‘We're as safe now as we've ever been. Hopefully now we can take a bit of time to fix our heads.’

Amber leaned into John’s shoulder. Whether she did so craving tenderness, or just to avoid a pretend tarantula clinging to a string web, he didn't know. She remained close, however, all the way through the jungle and into the Alpine Garden.

The moment was interrupted from both sides. From up ahead came Cait and Curls, faces flushed and moistened by exertion. The exercising pair waved at their friends and continued the gesture even once their salutation had been returned.

John and Amber turned.

T was in pursuit, his stride long. 200cm above the ground, the top of his shaven head disturbed plastic pine needles, scattering white powder in his wake. By the time he reached them, his dark skin was dusted with fake snow. ‘Sorry to interrupt, guys,’ he said, shovel-like hands on his hips.

‘No problem,’ Amber and John said in unison.

Cait and Curls arrived, out of breath but grinning. ‘What's up?’ the former asked.

‘Our presence is required.’ T had adopted the cut-glass tones of a butler.

‘By who?’ asked John.

‘Don't know, just told me where to go. But the fella who came knocking acted like it was important.’ T had ditched the posh voice.

‘Blanchflower?’ Cait scratched her head. Droplets of sweat fell from her spiky hair. ‘She did say she'd want to talk to us.’

‘Doesn't mean it's anything to worry about,’ Amber offered. ‘Might not even be her, anyway.’

Suddenly, there was a crackle from above; it came from a megaphone attached to the ceiling. ‘Attention, citizens,’ an androgynous voice demanded. ‘Please report to President Blanchflower as requested.’

The five exchanged glances.

Curls pointed at a camera secreted amidst the branches of a “tree.” ‘They can see us. They're watching us.’

***

They'd been sat doing nothing for half an hour. An obsequious underling had greeted them at the entrance to the Presidential Palace and conducted them to a waiting room, where the chairs were less comfortable than they appeared. The room was decorated in the style of a nineteenth century manor house. But the effect had been achieved cheaply. The furniture was decrepit, the period ornaments made of plastic.

‘Did you ever get sent to the Principal’s office when you were a kid?’ T asked.

‘Yeah.’ Cait laughed. ‘Loads of times. But I usually deserved it, unlike now.’

John smiled but shook his head when T looked his way.

Amber looked preoccupied.

‘What about you, Curls?’ T said. ‘You got a mischievous look about you.’

Curls smirked. ‘They don't have real schools anymore, dumbass. It's all uploaded onto pupils’ augs, or if their parents wait until the kid's sixteen, like mine did, it's done online. Or it was.’ The twinkle in her eye faded.

A leather studded door opened, and through it came Blanchflower's oily crony.  ‘Madam President will see you now. Remember, you shall refer to her at all times as “Madam President.” Do not look her in the eye. And stand straight.’ He clicked his heels. ‘Now, follow me, please.’

The group exchanged scornful glances but did as bidden. Upon entering the next room, they were stopped by two armed guards, who frisked the visitors before withdrawing to stand on either side of the door.

Although Blanchflower's office was styled in a similar vein to the antechamber, it was clearly maintained to a higher standard. Its sobriety was mirrored by the expression on its occupier’s face. She neither smiled nor frowned. She was neither welcoming nor forbidding. She was unreadable. ‘Good morning, Citizens,’ she said.

‘Good morning, Madam President,’ they replied.

‘Take a seat.’

There were only two chairs available, so Amber and Cait obeyed.

The President pressed a button on her desk and said, ‘Myers, bring three more chairs.’ She appraised her newest subjects while waiting.

Myers soon appeared with three chairs. ‘Apologies, ma’am.’

Once they were all seated, Blanchflower cleared her throat. ‘Citizens. Certain facts have been brought to my attention.’

John swallowed and remained as silent as his friends.

‘The five of you arrived with one other. The reason for your estrangement has not been given.’ She paused, licked her lips. ‘Until today.’

Amber and Cait shifted uncomfortably; T and Curls blinked.

‘Your former confederate has accused the five of you of the murder of his brother, the murder of another member of your party, and the murder of your leader, Silas Crowe. Three very serious accusations.’

‘Madam President,’ Cait said, ‘with all due respect —’

‘Silence,’ Blanchflower barked. ‘The respect due to me is compromised as soon as you speak without being asked.’

Cait coloured. A muscle in her jaw twitched; her knuckles blanched as she gripped the arms of her chair.

‘However, I will forgive your ill manners. You are but children in this domain, and have much to learn. Regardless, you have nothing to fear.’

The NYC AugFrees – apart from Cait – shot glances at one another.

‘So,’ Blanchflower went on, ‘for the time being, you are free to integrate with the general population. Your friend will remain in North Sector. Gainful employment will be arranged, to which I expect your willing, and respectful, commitment. Are there any questions?’

Amber raised a hand. ‘My apologies, Madam President, but I'm a little slow on the uptake. Are we being investigated for murder or not? Is Cyril being investigated? Because —’

‘That is not your concern.’ The President studied Amber for a moment, and then she said, ‘Anything else?’

‘I have a question, Madam President.’ John licked his lips. ‘My cyborg has been quarantined. When will the quarantine be lifted?’

‘Forthwith. He remains free until further notice.’ Blanchflower looked pointedly at her watch. ‘No more questions. My final word is this, I may have a use for you. If you prove yourselves useful, you may have a future here. Thank you, citizens.’

Chapter 29

Explaining to Frank the rules and culture of Neraka was proving more difficult than expected.

‘So, firearms and violence are forbidden for all AugFrees.’ Frank spoke in his customary placid fashion. ‘Unless you're a soldier, a police officer or part of the president’s personal guard, or you have special permission.’

‘Yes.’ John picked at a threadbare section of the Country Garden’s lawn-carpet. ‘Basically.’

‘But aren't we all AugFrees? Why are there some rules for some of us, and other rules for the rest?’

‘That's just the way it is. Surely you came across similar set-ups when you were assimilating all that data back at Asquith’s?’

‘Yes, I did. But nations and organisations which act this way have written laws to abide by. Or they're run by bullies, dictators, despots. Is that the sort of place we've come to?’

‘No, no. I don't think so. It's just… new. When you're building an underground world and fighting off zombs, you don't get much time for constitutions and legal rows.’

‘Okay. So what are we going to do now?’

John didn't know, so he said as much. He scooped up a pebble and flung it into the Garden’s pond.

Frank asked if his creator still hankered after answers. After all, they were yet to discover the cause of the zomb-augpocalypse, yet to exact revenge on behalf of mankind.

John did indeed crave the truth. But he didn't say so. Frank’s manner of questioning implied scorn, though, of course, such an attitude was unlikely for a cyborg. No doubt John was being over-sensitive.

Twenty-four hours had passed since the meeting with Blanchflower. They were yet to be assigned any duties; the tedium was worsening with every passing hour. For now, their security privilege limited them to East Sector, and they'd seen all there was to see. The official who handled newcomers to Neraka had not visited yesterday as promised. Cait, Amber and Curls, tired of waiting, had gone to the gymnasium. They'd left their passes in their rooms for Mr Tanaka to upgrade.

‘Come on,’ John said. ‘Tanaka may have been while we're out. Let's go and check.’

Back at their living quarters, they found the security cards. There was no note to say Tanaka had attended. John sighed. ‘We might as well go and find the others,’ he said, grabbing his and Frank’s cards.

The gym was on the outskirts of the complex. The further from the centre they ventured, the grimmer the corridors became. Some had limited lighting; others stank of urine. Twice they passed individuals wandering around like zombs in a state of drug-addled confusion.

Not everyone could adjust to Nerakan life. Too many were bereft. Grief-stricken by tragedies experienced prior to induction. Subterranean life was safe, but the lack of sunlight and claustrophobia was not conducive to emotional well-being. As the undesirables spiralled further into misery, their security clearance became increasingly restricted. They were dubbed “needlers” due to their willingness to indulge in narcotics the old-fashioned way. And they were mostly quartered in East Sector.

On the way, they spoke again about Cyril’s lies. Yesterday, when he was first told of their former comrade’s treachery, Frank had made little comment. Today he was more verbose. ‘In my opinion, John, the only way to remedy this situation is to talk to Cyril.’

‘Talk to him?’ John said, dumbfounded.

‘I have considered the other possible courses of action. Violence would ultimately only lead to severe consequences. Even if we somehow avoided the myriad security cameras, any attack would be blamed on us.’

‘Yeah, obviously.’

‘Trying to inculpate him would be similarly ineffective. Those in judgment would have no reason to believe our testimony over his.’

‘Right.’

‘And if we avoid action altogether, Cyril will make more friends, build more alliances. It would be better to try and resolve the matter amicably.’

‘But you know Cyril. What are the chances of him seeing sense?’

‘Not good,’ Frank admitted. ‘But my calculations suggest that the probability of success is greater than that of the other courses of action.’

John cursed inwardly, but said, ‘We'll put it to the others. Not sure they'll be keen, though.’

John and Frank arrived at the gym. The former exhaled in relief: they'd made it through the ghetto without incident. Apart from one alarming moment, when a needler tried to tailgate them into a corridor to which he was denied access. The recreational facility was all but empty.  Their friends were nowhere to be seen. Grunts of exertion, the clink of weights, but otherwise silence – it was a functional and depressing place. The sour tang of perspiration hung in the air, and something else. Bleach, perhaps. John was about to leave when he heard Amber's voice from the female changing room.

Seconds later she emerged with Curls.

John asked where were Cait and T, and Curls said they'd gone looking for him.

‘This place is like a rabbit warren!’ John complained. ‘Listen, anyway, I've, or rather, we've got an idea.’ He explained Frank's thoughts.

Frowning, Amber took a moment to think.

Curls, however, was vehemently opposed to the prospect of offering an olive branch to Cyril. ‘He and his 1 son of a bitch brother shot Juarez. Twice each! Then they laughed. And they shot him again while he was laying on the ground. All because he changed his mind and wanted to go back and help you guys. Cyril can go to fucking hell.’ Her eyes began to stream.

Amber put her arms around the girl’s shoulders. ‘I think we have our answer, don't you?’

The gym’s two other occupants had set their weights aside to watch the scene.

Wincing, John rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I know you're upset, Curls, but we've got to look at the bigger picture.’ Part of him agreed with the sobbing teen. To hell with Cyril. For some reason, though, he felt compelled to be magnanimous. Interminable squabbles benefitted no one. The AugFrees had more than enough external enemies without fighting amongst each other. ‘Let's just think about it, eh?’ he concluded.

Amber gave him a venomous look and mouthed the words, ‘Leave it.’ Aloud, she said, ‘Come on, Curls,’ and led the adolescent towards the exit.

‘Well,’ said John. ‘That went well. Suppose it's not even worth speaking to T and Cait.’

Frank shrugged. ‘You'll be able to judge their potential responses better than I can. Still, though, I calculate that a better overall outcome would be achieved via diplomacy.’

‘Hmm. Let's go.’

Out on the corridors, they turned a corner and almost collided with Cait and T.

‘Just saw Amber and Curls,’ the big man said brusquely. ‘They were in a rush, didn't stop, said you were over this way.’

‘What's happened?’ Cait asked, her forehead creased.

Momentarily closing his eyes, John began to tell the tale.

He was cut short as a group of eight loud, young males entered the walkway, twenty metres away, via a north-facing door. When they saw Frank, the men, whose number included the drunken louts from the park, quickened their pace. They encircled the NYC AFs. Leather and chainmail was their uniform; exposed flesh was covered in tattoos. As tall and broad as T, with a shaven head like a block of concrete, their leader was an intimidating figure. ‘What are you robot-loving fuckers doing here?’ His voice was deep, the words spat like machine-gun rounds.

Cait and T looked ready to fight, but John saw the men’s holstered pistols. ‘Nothing. Listen, we don't know you, friend, and we have no problem with you or —’

‘I'm not your “friend,” robot-lover. Nobody's your friend here. AI is outlawed in Neraka. And we're here to enforce.’

‘Listen, you arrogant shit-stain,’ Cait began, ‘you and your little crew wouldn't last five minutes out there in the real world. Now fuck off, before we get pissed.’

The thugs appeared amused. ‘You're cute,’ an ill-favoured, skinny one said. ‘But you better watch your manners.’

‘Watch your own,’ T rumbled. ‘We ain't doing no one no harm. If the President has no beef with our AI, who the fuck are you to lay down the law?’

‘We're the “Voice of the People,”’ the leader declared. ‘We're here to carry out the will of the people. And the people don't want evil fucking robots running around with impunity.’ The final word was pronounced as if unfamiliar.

Frank held his hands up. ‘I don't want any trouble on my account. If my absence would placate you, I am happy to resume quarantine.’

‘Not good enough,’ another of the men growled. Short but stout, he exuded contempt. He produced a cosh-like tool that'd been clipped to his belt and clicked a button on its side. The telescopic weapon trebled in length, and a blade slid out of one end. ‘EMP probe,’ he said, smirking.

‘Your machine is going down for good,’ the leader promised.

John stepped in front of Frank, who instantly protested, ‘No, John!’

The Voice of the People men drew their handguns.

Frank grabbed John by the wrist and spun him one hundred and eighty degrees. As his master met his eye, the bot gave the briefest of winks. ‘Please,’ Frank said. ‘No bloodshed. I surrender.’

John shook his head.

Frank ignored him and approached the fellow with the electromagnetic pulse spear. ‘I recommend you strike me in the chest,’ he said coolly.

‘Thanks for the advice,’ the spearman said. But when he stabbed, his target moved.

In the blink of an eye, the cyborg seized the probe and whipped his attacker across the face with the blunt end. The man dropped to his knees as firearms were discharged. The noise was deafening in the tight space. Somehow, all of the bullets missed.

Then Frank launched the spear at the corridor’s only operational light. Darkness descended. ‘Run!’ he yelled.

Chapter 30

Taken by surprise and blinded, the Voice hoodlums allowed their guard to drop.

Cait, T and John lashed out, then dodged past their enemies. There was illumination at each end of the walkway; they headed left. They turned right into the next corridor, which, like the previous, had just one working strip-light. Heavy footsteps were close behind. Frank was swiftest, but he stopped under the light and let the others overtake him. As the gang in pursuit rounded the corner, they shouted. Shots were fired, but all went wide.

Suddenly all was dark again – Frank had jumped and smashed the light. Again the bot sprinted past them. In the gloom, John could just about make out a row of oil barrels, which Frank began to upend. He waited until the humans had passed before he completely blocked the path with casks. The obstruction would buy them a little time, but not much. They turned another corner and carried on running. Despite himself, John grinned as he heard crashes and curses. Another left turn.

And a dead end.

‘Fuck,’ said Cait.

‘Look!’ T pointed: there was a vent grille in the wall. He began to claw at it; Frank helped.

‘Wait,’ said John, ‘don't these vents lead to the surface? Out of the base?’

‘Yup,’ Cait said. ‘But it's either that or a very one-sided gunfight.’

The grille came free with a groan. Cait slithered through with ease; John and Frank found the manoeuvre awkward. T struggled the most, but, just in time, he made it into the ventilation shaft. Hot lead chased him in as three bangs sounded from the corridor. Still the footsteps came, getting closer by the second. Grim-faced, Cait grabbed the ladder which would take them to ground level.

‘They'll come in after us!’ John warned. ‘Shoot us while we climb.’

‘Don't worry,’ T spat. ‘I'll smash them when they come through. You three go on ahead.’

Frank shrugged the big man out of the way. ‘No need.’ He stood to one side of the open vent in order to avoid gunfire and started to pummel the wall above the hatch. Initially he dislodged nothing more than loose earth. But just as the first arm reached from the corridor into the shaft, battered masonry began to crumble and fall. A melon-sized chunk hit the man’s elbow. There was a yelp; the limb withdrew. More rocks dropped, blocking the hole.

Cait was already two metres above the rest’s heads. One-by-one they followed her onto the ladder, casting nervous glances downwards until the bottom of the air duct was no longer visible. Although John’s arm was on fire with pain, he gritted his teeth and kept climbing. He was third, just a metre below T. The rungs were getting increasingly slippery. Whether due to condensation or sweat from the palms of his friends’ hands, he wasn't sure. Squeaks of footwear on metal and laboured breathing were the only sounds.

Eventually, just as John felt that his arm was sure to fail him, Cait called out. ‘We're at the top!’

‘Thank the Lord,’ T exclaimed.

At the summit was a walkway. It was dark but not pitch-black: there was a source of illumination at the opposite end of the passageway. Even from fifty metres’ distance, it was clear the light was natural. For the first time in a week John saw sunrays. ‘Come on.’ He felt giddy. Vitamin D supplements were issued as part of Neraka residents’ rations, but they didn't provide warmth or lift the spirits.

The NYC AFs hurried towards the light. Frank went first, still carrying the EMP spear; he would be better equipped to deal with any threat. The path was steep, the sunlight further away than anticipated. At one point, John slipped and broke his fall with his left hand. The ground was firm yet springy, clay perhaps. But before long they reached the source of illumination. It was a dead end, though above them, about three metres high, was a grate. Shielding their eyes, they peered through the mesh.

Blue sky.

‘Now what?’ said Cait. ‘Even if we manage to reach it, surely it'll be pretty secure?’

‘Remember,’ T said, ‘this place was designed to be a sort of nuclear bunker city. So it'll have emergency exits.’

‘Might be easier to get out than it looks, you mean?’ John wondered. ‘Frank, can you get up there?’

‘Sure. I think so.’ Frank handed him the spear then leapt upwards and grabbed the grate. Hanging by one hand, he ran his hand across the metal. ‘There's a release catch. It's a bit rusted, but…’

There was a creak. Suddenly the grille swung open; the bot dropped to the earth below. ‘If you each stand on my shoulders, you should be able to pull yourselves up.’

It was a laborious task, with numerous curses from all the humans concerned. Yet soon they were above ground, lay on damp grass, laughing. Apart from Frank, of course, who began to scout the area. His grey overalls had dark orange patches on the shoulders.

John sat up. They were in a clearing, in a forest, with trees thick in every direction. He breathed in deeply; the scent of nature was nourishment for his soul. ‘Well,’ he said, climbing to his feet, ‘it's nice to be outside, but we'd better try and find our way back down.’

‘Wouldn't it just be easier to go back the way we came?’ T was now standing, hands on hips.

‘Yeah, definitely.’ Cait got up and turned her face to the heavens. Scattered clouds aside, the sky was clear. ‘Those assholes will have got bored by now, surely.’

‘I blocked the vent, though,’ Frank reminded her. ‘And what's to stop them leaving someone to guard the hole?’

‘He's right,’ John admitted. ‘We can't just wander about in the woods, though. We'll get lost. Frank, why don't you climb a tree and take a look? See where the edge of this forest is.’

The cyborg responded with alacrity. He assessed the trees, chose the one with the lowest branches and, like a great ape, he climbed. A minute or two passed. Then he called, ‘Danger to the north!’

The humans exchanged puzzled glances.

‘Is he always this weird?’ asked Cait.

‘Pretty much.’ John smiled. ‘But he's usually right.’ Cupping his hands around his mouth, he tipped his head back. ‘Come down and report, Frank.’

The descent was quicker – the bot dropped the last three metres. By his standards, he seemed troubled. ‘There are several thousand undead heading this way. They're just about to enter the forest.’

‘Several thousand?’ the other three echoed.

‘Yes. Approximately twelve thousand, three hundred and twenty.’

‘Heading this way?’ said John.

‘Yes. Barring any deviation, their path will take the centre of their mass to within seventy-five metres of this location. At their current pace, outliers will cross the ground on which we stand in approximately three minutes and fifty seconds.’

‘Shit.’ T nodded at the hatch they'd just used to reach the surface. ‘They're bound to see that.’

‘We could hide it?’ Cait suggested. ‘Cover it with branches or something.’

‘Then we could hide in the trees.’ T scratched his chin and peered into the eaves above them.

‘Such a course of action has a twenty-nine percent chance of success,’ Frank advised.

‘I don't like those odds,’ said John.

‘Those odds appertain to the overall probability of Cait’s proposal succeeding. They are an average, in that the chance of us avoiding detection is higher, about forty-seven percent, while the chance of the zombs not seeing the hatch is much lower.’

‘Eleven per cent.’ John sighed. ‘So there's an eighty-nine percent chance the back door to Neraka will be found. And everyone inside is screwed.’

T shook his head. ‘Shit! Why the fuck they put that hole and tunnel there? Asking for trouble.’

‘I assume they didn't know it was there and it was installed by the original designers,’ Frank said. ‘In any case, we need to depart. Now. I suggest a southwesterly course.’ The cyborg pointed the way.

T and Cait were already on the move.

John hesitated, however. ‘We need to do something. Amber and Curls are down there, plus thousands more.’

‘We'll have to find another way in and warn them.’ Cait turned and walked in reverse. ‘Come on, John, we can't help them from here.’

‘Maybe we can, though. Frank, how fast are they moving?’

‘About six kilometres per hour.’

‘So we can outrun them?’

‘Yes, for a while, but you'll tire eventually, and they won't.’ Frank turned northwards. ‘We must depart, John.’

‘No, we mustn't.’ John strained his ears: a rumbling, rustling sound was getting louder. A familiar sickly smell was getting stronger. ‘T, Cait!’

They were twenty metres away. Both swivelled and beckoned for him to follow.

‘No! Come back!’ Then, to Frank, ‘How far are we from the edge of the woods?’

‘The closest is to our east, about two hundred metres.’

‘Okay. I need you to run east for a hundred metres then make contact. Get their attention, get them to chase you east. We'll meet you at the edge of the woods.’

With a look he might reserve for an inferior model of cyborg whose AI was compromised by a virus, Frank stared at his master for several heartbeats. ‘Very well, John,’ he said before doing as bidden.

‘Where the fuck’s he going?’ T asked.

‘And why are we just standing here?’ Cait sniffed the air. ‘I can smell them, the freaks. Let's go.’

‘We're going.’ John grimaced. ‘But not that way. Just follow me.’ He started running, and, for a moment, he feared his friends had recommenced their earlier route. But no. Their tread was to his rear. He was leading them in a heroic act of self-sacrifice which might result in a bloody end. Weaving between trees, hurdling gnarled roots, ducking to avoid low-hanging branches, splashing through puddles. Briefly, he felt glorious. Then he saw, in his peripheral vision, the first zomb-augs.

The fiends saw John and his comrades and quickened their pace.

‘John!’ Cait called, pointing. She and T were now by his side, matching him stride for stride.

‘I know!’ he replied. ‘Just keep going east.’ His arm was throbbing, his lungs protesting. Twice John nearly fell; on both occasions he kept his footing. The creatures were close now, within fifty metres. The density of trees was lessening. Open fields were in sight. There was a river a quarter of a kilometre away. If they could reach it, they would survive. ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘Nearly there.’

As they passed the last few trees, John realised his error. The massive host of zombs was large enough to cover several hundred metres. Those at the easternmost end of the line were wheeling their way as if the formation was hinged. The closest zombs were just metres from their prey. Their rasps and snickers were an unholy soundtrack as they moved to encircle the humans. Arms aloft, fingers flexing, the zombs surged towards John, Cait and T.

‘Back into the woods!’ John cried.

But the zomb-augs amidst the trees had also sped up; they were running to intercept the humans.

John marvelled for a moment at their acceleration and organisation. Yet, despite the zombs’ urgency, their faces remained passive, as if they were soldiers on a training drill. Head down, he sprinted for the space between the east wing zombs and the thousands amongst the foliage. The gap was narrowing, however. They weren't going to make it.

They were ten metres from the corridor that would take them clear when the incomplete circle of undead became complete.

‘Fuck!’ Cait screamed.

They were trapped.

Chapter 31

The zombs no longer ran. Instead they slowed to a walk, maintaining discipline somehow. Somebody or something was controlling them, John reasoned; they simply weren't capable of tactical cognition. His shoulders slumped. They were finished, their gamble failed. It was his failure, for he'd advocated luring the zombs away from the emergency exit. Once John, Cait and T were dead, the horde might find the hatch anyway. Their sacrifice would be in vain. Time seemed to slow down, but John barely saw the teeming morass. Their faces were blurred; their forms were indistinct. Had it not been for their stink, he could've pretended they weren't real.

‘John!’ T shook his shoulder. ‘Wake up! We ain't dying here, buddy.’

John blinked at him, then looked at the countless zombs. He turned a slow circle, once again registering the ugliness and horror. ‘Shit, T. There’s thousands of them. They're twenty metres away. We're fucked.’

‘No fucking way,’ Cait spat. ‘Look,’ she nodded at a point in the crowd where the bodies were less concentrated. ‘We can get through there. Come on.’ She began to jog.

T put an arm around John’s shoulders and led him in pursuit of their friend. ‘Come on, John. We'll make it through. I'll go first.’

John gulped. He shrugged off T’s muscular limb but carried on walking. His heart hammered; the edges of his vision were tinged scarlet. He felt an overwhelming desire to relieve himself.

The zomb-augs had all but stopped, as if confused by their quarry’s temerity.

Suddenly, there was an almighty thud, followed by multiple smaller impacts. Another whack – the zombs in the front rank turned. Again came the rustling effect, as though a vehicle was colliding with a parade of dogs. The third blow, louder still, was accompanied by the surreal sight of an undead head being launched into the air. And then a glimpse of something equally bizarre: a small tree, soil cascading from its roots, swinging left to right, right to left. It was carving a swathe through the monsters at the section to which the AFs were headed. At first it seemed that the plant was moving of its own volition. But there was a humanoid there, fighting its way through the press.

‘What the fuck?’ Cait said.

‘Is that Frank?’ T gaped. ‘Using a tree as a club?’

John shook his head. ‘I think it's a sapling. Come on, let's help him.’

Frank didn't need much assistance. Bodies were piling up around him, slowing the zombs desperate to bring him down. The killing was getting easier. With near-unlimited stamina, and a sturdy weapon, he could probably smash every monster present to smithereens. But some of the undead were growing wary of their tree-wielding foe. They were beginning to focus on easier pickings: the three humans.

‘Just go around me!’ Frank called over the crunch of timber and bone. ‘And run. I'll catch up.’

Taking care to avoid the log’s arcs, John, T and Cait darted through the breached line of undead. Any zombie which tried to stop them was swept aside in a flurry of splinters and splattered flesh. Tripping over a body, John nearly fell to the ground. Hands grasped at his back, the fingertips like iron, until T pulled him to safety. As they made it clear of the horde, hundreds of zomb-augs broke away to pursue.

‘No time,’ T barked when John paused, looking for Frank. ‘He'll catch us, he always does.’

Energised by adrenaline, they sprinted for the river.

Their enemies were slower, more deliberate, but they would never quit.

***

At least, that's what the humans presumed. But an hour after escaping the forest, the horde was no longer a dot on the horizon. Frank, who'd rejoined them within ten minutes of their separation, reckoned they were at least six kilometres clear of their tardy hunters. The four survivors were now walking on flat terrain, enjoying the sun.

‘All we have to do now is find a way back down to Neraka.’ John flexed his right arm; the climbing and running had inflamed the injury. ‘We haven't gone that far.’

‘By my calculations,’ Frank said, ‘we are about three kilometres away from the centre of Neraka. Not including the distance vertically.’

‘Can you not trace the entrance?’ Cait asked. ‘We were blindfolded when they hauled us underground, but can't you use your… science abilities to work out how far and which direction they drove in? Don't you have a, like, internal memory log or something?’

Frank smiled. ‘Ordinarily, yes, hence why I know how far we are from Neraka’s centre. As for where we were taken underground, that's not possible. My memory of that time was erased when I was quarantined.’

‘Hopefully a patrol will pick us up.’ T was inspecting his hand. He'd bloodied his knuckles by punching a zomb.

Cait had a faraway look in her eye. ‘Don't you think it was a bit easy?’

‘Easy?’ John frowned.

‘Yeah. Getting away from them, getting out of that mess.’

‘It wouldn't have been easy if Frank hadn't shown up with the world's biggest baseball bat,’ T reminded her.

‘Yeah, but even since then. Frank said they were walking fast, and they've dawdled behind us.’

‘What's your point?’ John asked. ‘You think they might be letting us escape?’

'Maybe,' Cait said, elongating each syllable. 'And we'll just lead them straight to Neraka.'

T chuckled. 'Those zombs are dumb as fuck. No way they're smart enough to play games like that.'

'They are indeed brain-dead, clinically-speaking,' Frank offered. 'However, I've been evaluating their behaviour, and it is my belief that they are controlled by a more intelligent party or parties.'

John felt a chill down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, but the fields to their rear were empty. 'There's definitely more than meets the eye to them.'

'Plus,' Cait continued, 'that's not the only strange thing.'

T rolled his eyes and snorted. 'Next you'll be rolling out the old "some of the freaks still have feelings, they can be brought back to life" bullshit.'

'Well, now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure I saw Curcic, that religious nut, in the horde.'

T fell silent and looked away.

'You better not be laughing at me,' Cait warned.

T turned; his expression was suddenly grim.

'What's up, T?' John asked.

The big man came to an abrupt halt. Then he started walking again, his stride now longer. 'It's nothing.'

John and Cait protested, but their comrade remained tight-lipped.

'You saw someone, didn't you?' Frank spoke softly.

'No... no. I don't think so. Must've been someone who looks like him, is all.'

'Looks like who?' Cait asked.

'Juarez.'

Cait cursed at length.

'But what are the odds?' T threw his hands in the air. 'Even if Curcic and Juarez were there, what are the odds that we'd see them in the middle of all those zombs?'

Haltingly, John confessed to his sighting of Tyler outside the tower block in Yonkers.

T shook his head. ‘Still, though, how would we see them in among all those freaks?’

‘Perhaps the zombs without augs are the leaders, and they push themselves to the front of the pack.’ John knew his words sounded ridiculous.

‘More likely we saw zombs who just look like people we know,’ T insisted.

The group fell silent. They travelled without talking for another kilometre or so. Birdsong was the only sound. Underfoot, the ground was becoming more treacherous; they were entering an undulating, craggy area. A dried-up river carved a cleft between two downs. They had a choice: they could follow the riverbed or climb the hills. Cait advocated the high road, reasoning that a higher vantage point would reveal the distance between them and the horde. John and Frank disagreed. The higher they were, the easier to spot they would be, and walking in the valley would be less physically demanding. And so it proved. The waterway, long gone, had left behind a dusty but even path, perfect for rambling.

Aloud, T wondered what would be their next move. It was two and a half hours since they'd emerged from the tunnel. They couldn't walk around forever. They needed a plan, a goal, a destination.

Cait agreed; they needed to find a way of locating Neraka’s entrance. However, they had to ensure they’d permanently eluded the horde before they started searching.

Perhaps they could wait until nightfall, John suggested. Then they could double back, find somewhere to rest and conduct a thorough exploration of the flats above the buried city. ‘What do you think, Frank?’

There was no reply.

‘Frank?’

‘Be quiet,’ the bot whispered. ‘I think we're being stalked.’

The humans looked upwards in alarm. By this point the hillsides to the left and right were steep, the summits high above their heads.

‘Stalked by who?’ Cait said. ‘Shit, I wish I had a weapon.’

‘I'm not sure, but they're on the left-hand ridge. Judging by their footfalls, they're very big, and there are about thirty of them.’

‘Big? So not zombs, but what, then?’ T crossed himself.

‘The path turns to the right, up ahead,’ John observed. ‘If we can get around that corner we might be able to find cover.’

What other choice did they have?

The AFs fell silent and continued to walk, their step quicker. Twenty metres from the bend, the temptation to break into a sprint was sore. There was no guarantee they would be safe once they’d turned the corner, though.

Ten metres.

Five.

‘Come on,’ hissed T. He began to run.

Several whistling sounds were followed by dull thumps as a handful of arrows rained down and embedded themselves in the dirt before them.

‘Halt!’ a deep voice ordered from above.

Chapter 32

The men scurried down the hillside like army ants. Clad in dark brown, with hair tied into ponytails, they were surefooted and lightning-fast. Each of the sixteen men had a bow and quiver slung over their backs, and they held t-shaped pistols, Uzis or Mac-10s. The frontmost was the most intimidating. He was less lean than his peers, but his scarred face was more weathered, harder. The tribe formed a ring around the AFs and aimed their guns from the hip. Similar in size and facial feature, their ethnicity was obvious: indigenous Native American.

The biggest regarded the four captives through hooded eyelids. ‘Nice day for a walk.’

Neither John nor his friends replied.

‘You're a long way from your underground city. It's careless of you to travel this far without weapons.’

Again his comment went unanswered.

Unlike their chieftain, the foot-soldiers showed no interest in the people before them. Apart from one, a youth, who was paying particular to T.

‘Are you all mute?’ The chief’s expression remained impassive. ‘I hope so, because I don't take kindly to being ignored.’

John cleared his throat. ‘We are from Neraka.’

‘Excellent. We have attempted to make contact with Neraka a few times, but we can't find a way in.’

Nobody responded.

‘You will show me the way in, so I can speak with your lady leader.’ He holstered his machine pistol. ‘You will take us there now.’

‘We don't know how to get in,’ Cait said. ‘They took us in blindfolded.’

‘Ha! Very sensible. Perhaps your people are finally learning. Anyway, I see no falsehood in your eyes. You are no use to us, so you may go.’

The Comanche leader gave the briefest of nods and turned away. But as he was about to start scrambling up the hill, the youngest of his men intercepted him and spoke to him in a low voice. The chief froze. For a few seconds he was still, the only movement that of his shoulders, as if he were breathing heavily. Suddenly, he spun around. Eyes ablaze, he looked each of the AFs in the eye. ‘Silas,’ he said, lip curled. ‘Which of you is Silas?’

After a moment John coughed and advised that none of them had that name.

The chieftain drew his gun and pointed it at T. He suggested that due to the big man’s size and appearance, a case of mistaken identity was unlikely. ‘He's a giant!’ the chief declared, his voice like a jackhammer. ‘And her, the man-girl’ – he aimed at Cait – ‘my boy recognises her, too. You are Silas's people.’

‘My name is John. This cyborg is Frank. The giant is called T, and she is Cait. We have no one called Silas.’

‘Now I see lies in your face.’ He chambered a round in his pistol; his men followed suit.

'We had a leader once, by that name,' Cait said. 'But he died. We killed him.'

'You have lied already, why should I believe you now? This Silas, he double-crossed my brother. Reneged on a deal, and we were taken by surprise by biker scum. My brother is dead because of that piece of shit. I wasn't present when your giant friend was seen with Silas, but my young friend was. Good for me, not so good for you.'

'We don't know shit about any deal or biker attack,' T protested. 'Silas disappeared for weeks and told us nothing.'

'He was without honour.' The Native American was shaking with rage. 'And he once led you, you say? So you must be without honour, too!' He aimed at T. His subordinates levelled their weapons.

A flock of birds took flight fifty metres away; there was a roar of engines in the distance, but no one reacted.

Although every instinct urged the opposite, John stepped forward. 'I killed him! I killed Silas. He was a bastard, you're right.'

'That may be true, but I will have vengeance against someone.' The muzzle of his gun steadied as the chief looked down its sights.

T, his lips moving rapidly, closed his eyes.

The sound of motorcycles was now too loud to be ignored, and it was getting closer. Everyone but the Comanche leader looked towards the bend in the valley. Eventually, even he lowered his Uzi.

The first bike appeared. Then a second, and a third; soon, nineteen bikers were en route. They rode past their audience once, then twice, before eight of their number made a third pass while the remainder came to a halt. The detachment stopped on the other side of the Comanches and AFs, surrounding them. Still seated, the Hell’s Angels on both sides produced firearms, which they pointed in the general direction of the chieftain and his men.

Straightaway, John recognised the gang’s regalia from the set-to outside the tower block in Yonkers. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he reflected. The Angels would be equally as intent on vengeance as the Natives; unfortunately, they were just as well-armed, too. One of the bikers from the larger group dismounted and removed his sunglasses. He was of average height but wide, his bare, tattooed arms well-muscled. After a moment of contemplation, he strode over to the Comanche commander. The two men were of similar size, though the gangster was at least ten years the junior.

‘What do you want, bike man?’ the Comanche said with disdain.

‘Same thing as you, partner,’ the biker boss drawled. He pulled a lighter and a carton of cigarettes from a pocket in his leather jacket – a move which stirred caution amongst the Natives – and began to smoke. Smiling, he offered the pack to his opposite number.

The chief didn't acknowledge the gesture. ‘And what might that be, bike man?’

‘Blood for blood, Chiefie. These motherfuckers ambushed some good friends of mine. Took a while to catch up with them, but we're patient motherfuckers.’

‘We also have unfinished business with them. They're ours.’

For a while the two heads debated their comparative rights to retribution. The AFs watched without comment.

Suddenly, just as the argument was becoming heated, the Hell’s Angel conceded. He took a final draw on his second smoke, dropped the butt and extinguished it with his boot. ‘Well, Chiefie, suppose you lost a kinsman, I just lost friends, your beef is bigger. You can kill these fuckers now.’ He swaggered back to his Harley.

‘We don't need your permission, bike man, but I respect your willingness to see reason.’ He stared at the gangster until he'd remounted his chopper. Then he returned his attention to John and friends, as did his tribesmen and the other Angels.

In his peripheral vision, John saw the biker leader nod twice.

On both sides, the Hell’s Angels opened fire.

Simultaneously John yelled, ‘Down!’

His friends had been wary, too. They dropped to their bellies as bullets flew overhead.

Presumably, the Comanches also expected trouble. They too were ready for the barrage. They ducked, returned fire and ran for cover, heading for a collection of rocks near the foot of the right-hand side hill. Some were too slow; their blood was splattered on the dry earth.

The bikers, meanwhile, jumped off their bikes and used the vehicles as shields.

Crawling in the dust towards the hill on the left, John prayed the combatants would be too occupied to shoot the AFs on the ground. Rounds whizzed above from three directions, but he heard no cries of pain from his comrades. When they reached the foot of the hill, they took a final glance at the gun battle and then began climbing. They were horribly exposed. At any moment, one of the thirty or so fighters could slay all of them with a single spray of lead. On a couple of occasions, shots were fired in their direction. John tasted soil as one slug hit the hillside millimetres from his head. After an eternity, they reached the hilltop and rolled out of harm's way.

Ten metres away from the edge was a group of horses. They were nervous, fidgeting and rolling their eyes.

‘There's our ride.’ T pointed at the steeds.

Having never ridden a horse, John was dubious. They needed to move quickly, however, because the gun battle would soon be over, and the victors were sure to come looking for their prize.

Cait was the first to try mounting one of the animals, but it resisted. Her attempts to calm the beast proved unsuccessful. ‘They're spooked,’ she complained.

‘Not surprised,’ said John, ‘with that racket.’

T tried one of the other horses; he was refused and nearly earned himself a kick for his troubles. ‘It can't be the guns. They're used to that. Maybe they'll only carry the Natives.’

‘I think that,’ Frank said, pointing, ‘is the more likely explanation.’

The humans followed his finger. In the valley, a hundred or so metres in the direction from which they'd come, was the zombie horde. The narrowness of the gully meant their column was thin but long. Those at the rear were more than half a kilometre from the vanguard.

T whistled. ‘They've come from nowhere! Can't have been close when the Natives arrived, because they would've spotted them.’

‘We'd better run.’ After a brief search Cait stole a hatchet and a coil of rope from a saddlebag. ‘Don't think we need to worry about the Comanches or the bikers now.’

T copied Cait and found a machete.

John grabbed a shovel. ‘Shouldn't we… you know… warn them?’

‘Fuck them,’ Cait said. ‘They were gonna kill us.’

With that, the AFs left, though John took one last look at the skirmish below. Assailed from both sides, relying on inadequate cover, the Comanches had lost more than half their strength. Their leader was wounded. The exchange had reduced to a battle of attrition, with the men still standing unwilling to take unnecessary risks. No doubt their adrenaline had depleted, and they'd realised that the spoils – claiming the scalps of the AFs – had disappeared. They were effectively fighting for nothing. Soon the undead would arrive and render their squabble pointless.

***

‘I think we can turn back now,’ Cait said. ‘Must've covered five k since the valley, most of it uphill. Surely the horde will have been thrown off the scent by fighting the bikers and Comanches.’

‘You'd think so,’ T agreed. ‘But we can't assume nothing with the zombs. They keep surprising us.’

Footsore and dispirited, they were in another wooded area, though this one wasn't as wild as the previous; the trees were sparser but taller. The light was failing. Dusk was imminent. A dank smell of vegetation hung in the air; the temperature had dropped.

‘How about we take a look from the treetops?’ suggested John. ‘We're on higher ground now, so we should get a decent view.’ He looked at Frank.

The bot took the hint and scaled a nearby trunk. A couple of minutes later, he reappeared. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ he asked.

‘It's been a shitty day.’ T folded his arms. ‘Let's hear the good first.’

‘Sure. The horde is a long way from here. Maybe some of the bikers or Natives escaped, and they're in pursuit, maybe something else took their fancy. But whatever it is, they're heading in the opposite direction to us.’

‘Excellent.’ John waited for a moment. ‘And the bad news?’

‘A small party of zomb-augs has broken away from the main host. Unlike their peers, they are heading this way, and they aren't far behind us. They have followed exactly the same path as us, which leads me to believe that they are tracking us. They move quicker than we do, too. In fact, they are sprinting.’

‘Sprinting?’ T made a face. ‘Non-stop sprinting?’

‘Yes. From what I've seen. Perhaps most worrying is the way they travel.’

‘In what way?’ John asked.

‘They appear to value stealth as much as speed. They manoeuvre like commandos in enemy territory.’

Cait snorted. ‘You sure they're zombs? Because that don't sound like zombs to me. Usually they're as subtle as a grenade.’

‘Admittedly, they don't look like most zomb-augs. But they definitely are.’ Frank began walking and gestured for the humans to do likewise. ‘Come on, we don't have time to wait around.’

John hurried after his bot, as did Cait and T. The former said, ‘What do you mean? How do you know for sure, if they don't look like zombs?’

‘Because they look like people we know. Vincente, Juarez, Tyler.’

‘Aww, not this shit again,’ T said. ‘They're dead. They are dead.’

‘According to my facial recognition software, which is accurate up to ten kilometres, they're not. There's a ninety-eight percent probability that we're being followed by zombified versions of AugFrees. And with their speed versus ours, we have about thirty minutes before they appear and prove me right.’

Running was futile. The undead predators would overtake them, of that there was no doubt; it was better to ensure the inevitable happened on their terms. Between them they had four weapons: a wickedly-sharp axe; a thick-bladed machete; John's shovel; and the EMP spear taken from Cyril’s allies. A fifth weapon was created when Frank ripped a 4cm-thick branch from a tree. The enemy were unarmed, but they outnumbered the AFs two-to-one. Victory would rely on effective use of the element of surprise.

T immediately got to work. A self-confessed survivalist long before the apocalypse, he had one thing the zombs would never acquire – bushcraft. They found a rock, roughly the size of a bowling ball, to which T tethered the rope. Frank took the other end of the rope up a tree a few metres from the path and secured it to one of the branches. The rudimentary wrecking ball hung about a metre and a half above the ground. Frank went back up the tree, hauling the rock behind him.

Meanwhile, John was digging a trench, and Cait was sharpening Frank’s club with the EMP probe’s blade.

Next T ordered Frank to remove his overalls. The sight of Frank in his hitherto extraneous underwear was a humorous one, but they had no time for comedy. T tore the overclothes into strips, which he tied together to make a cord. Pulled fast between two trees, and hidden in the undergrowth, it made a tripwire. Their footprints would lead to the trap.

‘Don't seem like much,’ T said, ‘but you try defending yourself when you're on your ass. How much time do we have?’

‘Ten minutes, approximately,’ Frank replied.

‘Take over digging, Frank,’ said T.

The bot obeyed, the spade a blur in his hands. Cait, John and T collected twigs to hide the trap. With Frank in charge, the shallow channel quickly became a hole, fifty centimetres long, sixty deep, running the full breadth of the path. It was positioned four metres past the tripwire.

‘Two minutes to go,’ Frank warned. ‘We should take up positions.’ When the others nodded, he seized his makeshift stake and the EMP spear and carried them up the tree from which the wrecking ball was suspended.

It was now almost dark. The humans crouched either side of the path, eyes and ears straining. They soon heard the sound of loping, ragged footsteps.

Nausea gripped John's bowels; the sweat on his back was like ice. The shovel in his hands felt flimsy.

When it seemed that the chasing pack would appear at any second, they stopped.

‘Come on,’ John breathed, willing the enemy to continue and fall foul of the traps.

A low growl sounded. A branch snapped on the ground. Otherwise, the zombies were silent. There was a squelch as one of the creatures stepped in a muddy patch. In the darkness, John just about made out one, no two, distinct shapes moving his way, plus another not far from Cait and T. The zombs had left the track and were exploring the foliage on either side.

The AFs’ ambush had been detected.

Chapter 33

There was a sudden whistling sound, then a thump. One of the shapes now had a long, straight shaft protruding from it. The stake dropped by a metre as the dark form fell. A second projectile hit the adjacent form; this time there was a crackle as the EMP fired. Two down. John expected there to be a reaction from the other zombs, but nothing happened.

Complete silence descended, broken only by the mating call of a fox. Or was it the screech of an owl? The dark masses that hadn't been neutralised had now disappeared. Surely they hadn't been deterred by Frank’s javelins?

A crunch of undergrowth to John’s right – he spun – it was only Frank. ‘Fuck me,’ he whispered.

‘Sorry,’ said Frank.

‘Where are they?’

‘I don't know.’

‘Don't you have motion sensors, or something?’

‘Yes, but they don't give an exact location. I do have night-vision, though, and I can't see the hostiles anywhere. Plus my hearing is five times more sensitive than yours, and I can't hear anything.’

‘So what now?’ John cuffed perspiration from his eyes.

‘We wait.’ Frank was calmness personified. ‘Wait for them to give away their position.’

‘And then…’

‘I reassess.’

So they waited. After thirty minutes T called out, ‘They gone?’

‘Not sure,’ John hissed.

‘I'm coming across,’ Cait said. There was a rustling as she stood.

Frank replied, ‘I advise against that.’

But Cait ignored him. She tiptoed onto the path and glanced right and left.

A creak sounded from above.

‘Duck!’ Frank yelled, darting out of his hiding place. He was too far away, had too much distance to cover.

T, however, was closer. With deceptive speed, he dove towards his friend and grabbed her ankle.

Cait stumbled.

The wrecking rock swung and missed her head by centimetres.

John jumped to his feet.

Like a jaguar, Frank flew up a tree. There was a brief commotion above. A zombie fell to the ground.

Cait had banged her head; T had winded himself.

Frank suddenly appeared, but only his head, arms and torso were visible. The cyborg seemed to be suspended above the ground.

Meanwhile, the zomb-aug rose to its feet. It looked first at T, then at Cait, next at Frank. The latter grasped at the beast, but to no avail. He was evidently held fast and couldn't reach. Eventually the zomb’s gaze settled on John. In its eyes, rather than indifference, there was pure malevolence. Its nose and mouth had been flattened and torn by its killers. Suddenly it pounced.

John swung his shovel like a baseball bat. But the monster was too swift, and it dodged the attack. With a roar somewhere between terror and fury, John launched an even bigger swing. Again the creature avoided the blow. This time, though, it went on the attack, wrestling John to the ground. The human managed to get his forearm across the thing's throat, so its jaws snapped shut a hair’s breadth from John’s nose.

Then there was a thud. The zomb-aug went limp mid-bite. Blood poured into John's screaming mouth, choking him. He coughed, spluttered and scrambled away from the deadweight. T’s hatchet was buried in the zombie’s skull.

‘Fuck me!’ Cait exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She rubbed the back of her head; her fingers came back bloody.

‘Is that it?’ T stood on the zomb’s neck and wrenched the axe free. ‘Where are the rest of them?’

‘I can't see any more.’ Frank pulled the EMP prod out a zomb’s chest. ‘This one used to be Tyler.’

T, shaking his head, squatted next to the corpse. ‘Shit. You were right. This don't make sense. They shouldn't be… turning like this.’

‘Well,’ John said. ‘That's the way it is.’ He spat for the fourth time, desperate to remove the taste of blood from his mouth. He vomited and, bile in his throat aside, felt a little better.

Frank overturned the body speared by the stake. ‘I don't recognise this one. But like Tyler, he looks fresher than the zomb-augs to which we're accustomed.’ He moved on to the face-down creature, the one which had nearly mauled John. The gemstone teeth could only be Curcic’s.

‘You said there were eight of them, Frank,’ Cait reminded. ‘So there's five left, somewhere in these woods.’

John retrieved his spade. ‘An ambush obviously isn't the answer. Somehow they're too smart. Smart enough to use our own traps against us, even. We just need to run, find somewhere safe, and think about going back to Neraka once we've got rid of these super-zombs.’

***

The next day was dawning when they saw such a haven on the horizon. The Settler village lay to the east, and, illuminated by the rising sun, it looked almost Arcadian. As the AFs drew closer, they spotted anachronisms: a field dotted with sheep; a working windmill; a pigsty; a man chopping timber.

‘Like we went back in time two hundred years,’ observed Cait.

John smiled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank, whose eyes were flickering and assessing.

‘I'm not sure they had machine gun emplacements in the nineteenth century.’ The bot nodded in the direction of a tower a hundred metres away.

‘Looks empty.’ T walked faster. ‘Think they would've fired by now, otherwise. Bet that pork tastes good.’

The others had to quick-march to keep up. Aching bones were forgotten, fatigue banished. They were a hundred metres from the settlement when the woodcutter plunged his axe into the chopping block. Hands on hips, he stared in their direction. After a moment he waved; they reciprocated.

He began to head their way, half-walking, half-jogging. ‘Hey, there!’ he shouted as soon as he was close enough. He continued his approach, as did his visitors. ‘What brings you this way?’ The wind ruffled his grey mane of hair and beard.

‘Long story.’ John accepted the man’s hand; Cait, T and Frank did likewise.

‘Well,’ the man beamed, ‘we've a long day ahead of us. We always do, out here!’ He clapped his hands. ‘But where are my manners? Come on, you all look tired. And hungry. Let's fix you something to eat and drink, hey? And a place to rest. Come with me.’

As they trailed the villager, John wondered when they should inform him of their erstwhile followers. They'd seen neither hide nor hair of the aug-less zombs and had come to the unsettling conclusion that their escape had been allowed to happen. They were being watched, in the hope they would reveal Neraka’s location.

Hopefully, the undead, now numbering just five, would be deterred by the prospect of invading an inhabited area. Of course, that hadn't been the case in the past. Many times John had defended Asquith’s Robotics against groups of two or three zomb-augs. These “super-zombs” were more intelligent, however; perhaps they would be more cautious as a result.

The villager, who introduced himself as Buck, led the AFs past his timber pile and a coop of boisterous hens. His house was single-storey but sprawling. When he knocked on the back door, a rosy-cheeked, plump woman answered.

‘This here's my sweetheart,’ Buck cooed. ‘Lorna Rose, pretty as the day I met her.’

‘Oh, away with you, you old fool!’ Lorna chided, though the affection was obvious in her countenance. ‘Who are these fine folks, then?’ Her eyes, a piercing blue, darted from one guest to the next. She was particularly fascinated by Frank. Unlike her beau, who barely seemed to have noticed he was in the company of an artificial person.

For a moment, the AFs were lost for words; they'd not discussed the possibility of meeting other humans. John eventually spoke and related their story. He was tempted to fabricate and conceal their identity, but he feared being exposed as a liar if the truth were revealed at a later point. They were shown into a kitchen. It was pristine yet rustic, and full of the aroma of frying food. Invited to sit at a large wooden table, the AFs breathed sighs of relief.

Although Buck and Lorna asked questions, John sensed they were only doing so to be polite. A meal was provided. The bacon, scrambled eggs and pancakes and orange juice were as fresh as anything he'd ever eaten.

‘You take your time, folks,’ Lorna said, still fussing around her diners. ‘There's more coffee and juice if you want it. I'll be in the laundry room, so just holler if you need me.’

The AFs thanked their hosts and finished their food. Now sated, John realised he had a lot of questions. Glancing at his friends, he saw his curiosity mirrored in their faces. ‘Buck,’ he began. ‘We've got to thank you for your hospitality.’

‘Don't even mention it, son. Glad to help.’

‘So, how… I mean… what's going on here? You and your wife seem happy.’ He nodded at the window, through which the neighbour’s garden was visible. A young man, hammer in hand, was mending something. ‘Looks like there are other people here who are happy too. Doing okay, like.’

‘Too right. The way it should be. What are you getting at, son?’ The question was asked so gently that it didn't sound like a challenge.

‘Well, you know… the thing is —’

‘The zombies,’ Cait interjected. ‘How have you survived them?’

‘Oh, them. They don't bother us none.’

The newcomers stared at him, slack-jawed.

‘Honestly. We leave them be, they leave us be. Now, where's that woman of mine gotten to?’ Buck stood and patted his pockets. He poked his head through the doorway through which Lorna had gone, then turned on his heel. ‘Be back in a tick. Don't worry, I know you folks have questions. But I ain't qualified to answer them. Neither’s Lorna, come to think of it. Don't worry, we'll soon be introducing you to some friends of ours. Much wiser than us old timers, I promise you!’ And with that, the man left through a second internal door.

‘What the fuck?’ said T. ‘“They don't bother us none,”’ what did he mean by that?’

‘Suppose we'll find out, soon enough.’ Cait scooped a final mouthful of eggs and washed it down with a swig of OJ.

***

The hamlet, which was powered by a combination of solar and wind energy, comprised of twenty homes, four of which were farmsteads. In the centre was a building that'd once been a church but now served as a town hall.

‘We don't go in for any of that Christ mumbo-jumbo,’ Buck said as he ushered the newcomers into the meeting house. He saw John’s raised eyebrows and chuckled. ‘What, you think because we're simple country people, we got no sense?’

‘No, I wasn't thinking that,’ stammered John.

‘I was,’ admitted Cait.

‘Always with the bigotry,’ T complained. ‘Ain't nothing wrong with having faith, you know.’

Buck guffawed. ‘There's four seats set aside for you.’ He pointed at the centre of the almost empty hall, where there was a circle of eleven unoccupied chairs. ‘I'll be back in a tick.’

John and the others sat in the proffered places, which were set slightly apart from the other seven. The room was in semi-darkness; for some reason they spoke in hushed tones. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, John noticed the dozen armed guards standing to attention in the shadows.

After five minutes, Buck returned with six other men, who were all roughly the same age. They wore black robes, like priests or masons. Even Buck had donned a cowl; he looked different, somehow, more solemn. The dark-clad figures bowed to one another before sitting.

‘Good morning,’ one of the men said in a surprisingly high voice. Although his face was partially shadowed, it was clear he was the eldest. His nose was hooked, his chin pointed, his ears protruding.

‘Good morning,’ the AFs murmured in reply.

‘I am Elder David. Welcome to Newtown. I trust you've been well-treated so far?’

John, Cait and T nodded and gave thanks.

‘Sorry about all the ceremony. We're quite down to earth when you get to know us. Whether you get to know us, or not, is up to you. And don't worry about the soldiers.’

The guests waited for David to continue.

‘Should you wish to stay with us, there is a vacant home whose previous occupants were elderly and have passed away. You will have to work, mind you. But you'll be safe, well-fed and clothed.’ He paused to smile. ‘Take as long as you want to decide, of course. And in the meantime, messages can be sent to your Nerakan friends. Do you have any questions?’

John had plenty, but, inexplicably, he felt self-conscious.

No one else spoke, though they shifted in their chairs.

‘Excellent. I'm not overly fond of questions, truth be told.’ Again he grinned. ‘Mr Buck and his goodwife will see to your accommodation, I leave you in their capable hands. For now, I bid you good day.’

***

Their duties would begin tomorrow, Buck said. Today would be spent recuperating from their recent scrapes. It was a fine day, warm but with a breeze. The refreshments provided, served alfresco, were delicious. Luncheon was accompanied by cool drinks, with alcoholic and non-alcoholic options available. Clothes were brought for Frank, too.

Theirs was the only house for fifty metres. It was the furthest from the meeting house. The road leading to the villa was bordered by hedges, with a tree every five metres on alternating sidewalks. At the end of their street, at the southernmost point of Newtown, was a sentry tower. Seven similar structures were in place in the south east, east, north east, et cetera. Their occupants had machine guns, apparently.

But Casper, the one stationed nearest to the AFs, seemed friendly enough. He'd shared a bottle of beer and a packet of cigarettes with them earlier. They’d told him about Neraka; he'd spoken of his life in Newtown. Casper, a middle-aged veteran of the Korean Peninsula Wars, gave the impression that he was disenchanted by Neraka. His speech was economical, his manner languid. He was relaxed in their presence, quick to laugh, but ever-alert. With his close-cropped grey hair, weathered complexion and sinewy muscles, he looked as fit as a man half his age.

‘But it's not so bad, here,’ John opined. He and the others were in the garden of the uninhabited property. Apart from Frank – who was no less vigilant than he'd been in the wild – they were seated in cushioned outdoor chairs.

‘Yeah, it's pretty sweet.’ T sipped his glass of beer. ‘Could get used to this.’

‘Strange how no one's come to visit us, though,’ Cait said. ‘You'd think the villagers would be curious about us.’

Earlier, a young couple, swinging a toddler between them as they went, had waved when passing. But they'd seen nothing of the other nineteen families, except Buck and Lorna. The situation was decidedly weird, and there were questions yet to be answered. But, as T said, it beat running around the wilderness from superpowered zombies, bikers and Comanches. They’d spent the last hour or so speculating about the settlement’s supposed invulnerability to the zomb-aug threat. Other imponderables had been similarly exhausted.

‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Cait suggested. ‘Explore a little?’

‘When I've finished my beer,’ T said. ‘First decent drink I've had in months.’

John sipped from his own bottle and closed his eyes. Admittedly, it was a good brew. In the sunshine, with fresh air in his lungs and cold lager in his belly, he wondered if he would be satisfied living in Newtown. Honest work, simple pleasures, no pressure.

‘You thinking what I'm thinking?’ T sat forward in his lounger. He grabbed a pebble from the side of the path to the front door and threw it at a vocal magpie.

‘What's that?’ John asked.

‘That it'd be cool. To live here. Get out into the sun. I grew up in a place like this, up in Vermont. My dad was a farmer, my mom a vet. Dad used to take me fishing and hunting, mom used to scold us for killing defenceless animals.’

‘Simpler times.’

‘Yup. Then the droughts hit, and they both went out of business.’

‘Sounds rough.’ John related a little of his own history.

‘Shit. They just cut you loose, huh? Your own family, your fiancé. I mean, when we were broke, life was hard, but we always stuck together. That's what my wife and I were like, too, that's how we wanted to raise our kids. Not the broke part, of course, but the outdoors, the togetherness.’

‘Bet you miss your family, right?’

‘Certainly do. I'll see them again, one day.’ T looked at the azure sky. ‘This place, Newtown, brings it all back. It feels more like home than that… dungeon.’

‘Neraka?’

‘Yeah. Gives me the creeps. What kind of name is that, anyway?’

Cait, who'd just been taken for a look at Casper's tower, rejoined her friends. ‘It means “hell” in Indonesian, you know.’ Of the NYC AFs, she was the best acquainted with the underground city’s existing residents. ‘Apparently one of the original founders grew up in the Far East. Guy obviously had a sense of humour.’

‘Was he the “great leader” they talk about who mysteriously disappeared?’ T asked.

‘No. I don't think so.’ Cait’s elfin features took on a mischievous look. ‘Besides, we can't stay out here. John and Amber would die of broken hearts!’

‘Ha ha.’ John necked his beer. He had started to pine for Amber. They were out of immediate danger now, and her absence had begun to pain him. He missed the trivial things about her: the way her brow furrowed when she was exasperated; the coy grin she flashed when she caught him looking at her. Their relationship was no more than a spark, but he thought they had a chance at something special.

Cait said, ‘But if she was here —’

‘And Curls!’ T interrupted.

‘Yeah, and Curls, if they were both here, would you prefer it to being underground?’

‘I honestly don't know,’ John replied. ‘It'd be good to be above ground, and I wouldn't miss Cyril and his psycho friends. But… I don't know. Feels like we have unfinished business down there.’

‘Getting even with “The Voice of the People.”’ T clenched his right fist.

‘No, not that. Well, yeah, but not just that. It feels like Neraka is a good place to start again. Not us, humans in general, I mean. And there's enough people down there, most of them with the right attitude, to survive, and thrive, even. With the right leaders, it could be something good. And I want to be part of that. This place, Newtown, can't last forever.’

The other two nodded. Even Frank was listening, having evidently realised that his watchfulness was unnecessary. Casper had been quiet for a while. Fleetingly John wondered if speaking so openly in front of the Newtown resident was sensible; after all, Casper was still to explain his disillusionment with Neraka. But the older man seemed benign enough.

John had another reason for returning to Neraka. One he didn't care to share. He still harboured a compulsion to learn the truth about the zomb-augpocalypse. Someone was to blame for the end of civilisation. If John were to discover their identity, he would only do so in Neraka. Of that he was certain, though he wasn't sure why.

***

As pleasant as Newtown was, it didn't offer much in the way of excitement. Their walk was prolonged by the vastness of the plots allocated to each family. Whilst strolling, the AFs met a few locals, who greeted them with warmth, but there was no attempt to make conversation. The natives seemed busy and were usually rushing from one place to the next. John was relieved: he'd never mastered the art of small talk. Upon their return they found a refrigerated hamper full of cold food and drinks, which they took inside.

Apart from tables, chairs, sanitary fittings and beds, their new abode was empty. The fugitives were exhausted, so, post-dinner, they opted to retire. Frank stood guard at the door. As darkness fell, John was glad of his presence. Thus far, the cyborg had been reticent regarding the latest episode in their adventures. It was too early to judge whether or not they were safe, he said. On the issue of Newtown’s zomb-repellent magic, he was similarly reserved.

The shared house had five bedrooms, though only three had beds. John climbed into his and was surprised by its quality. He suspected that tonight, unlike most nights, he wouldn't be kept awake by fantasies of a future with Amber.

Such was his fatigue that he almost forgot to remove his watch. When he did, he dropped the timepiece down the side of the bed. He failed to reach the device by squeezing his arm between wall and bed frame, so he got out of bed, switched on the light and attempted to move the bed. It was heavier than anticipated. Sighing, he lay flat and shimmied under the frame. As he grasped the watch, his hand brushed against something else, something hard yet small. He fished it from under the bed and switched on a lamp to take a better look.

In his hand was a tooth.

Sat on the floor, he examined the find. Its root was long and blackened by blood; it was probably a back tooth. Judging by its size, it’d belonged to an adult. Feeling unease in his gut, John stood. This time, he ignored the pain in his arm and moved the bed into the centre of the room. Underneath, on the laminate, was a word, scrawled in red-brown. Its final two letters were faint.

It read: “death.”

Chapter 34

‘Fuck knows.’ T stopped for a moment, and then recommenced his pacing. The house’s lounge was long and wide. ‘Just one word, how we supposed to work out what it means?’

‘I reckon they wanted to write more, but they stopped bleeding,’ John said.

‘Losing a tooth can be bloody,’ Cait mused, ‘but I suppose it depends how you lose it. And there's no blood anywhere else?’

‘No.’ John shrugged. ‘You saw the room, didn't you? Maybe they were smacked in the face, got cleaned up, didn't notice the tooth was loose till later, then used the blood to write “death.”’

‘Doesn't really matter, does it?’ Cait sat in an armchair for a moment. Then she stood again. ‘What does it mean? That's what's important.’

‘Fuck knows,’ T repeated. ‘But it can't be good news. Can it?’

‘Perhaps most importantly,’ Frank began, ‘is the fact that it casts doubt on the “Elders” who run Newtown. I smelled the blood. It appears to have been shed recently, so the “elderly couple” story could well be false.’

T bared his teeth. ‘If they're lying about that, what else they lying about?’

***

A knock on the door woke John from a short and troubled sleep. For an instant he imagined zombies were his morning callers, but Buck’s voice dispelled the ghosts. Then he remembered the previous evening’s revelation.

‘Howdy!’ Buck said when John opened up. ‘Hope I didn't wake you.’

‘No, was just upstairs.’

‘Brought you some breakfast. Everything’s cold except the coffee, hope that's okay?’

It was difficult to equate the kindly old gent with any nefarious activity. Perhaps, John reflected, Buck was a stooge, an unwitting accomplice of Elder David. ‘That's great. Thanks, Buck.’

‘Don't thank me, thank Lorna. Though she'd tell you not to fret about it. Anyhoo, you folks eat your vittles, get yourselves set, then come over to my place. David’s coming over, he wants to talk some more. See you soon!’

As the door shut, Cait came down the stairs. She queried the purpose of Buck’s visit.

John explained, then asked if she'd seen Frank.

At that moment the bot came in through the back door. After apologising for the start he gave them, he explained that he and T, who'd been unable to sleep, had been searching the property for clues. The backyard was their final hope; so far, the mission had proved fruitless. T followed Frank indoors and listened as John told of Buck’s appearance for a second time. Together they ate a breakfast of pastries and cold meats before leaving their accommodation.

‘So… how we playing this?’ John asked, walking slowly.

‘Cool,’ Cait said. ‘Cards close to our collective chest.’

‘No ma’am,’ T argued. ‘We should come right out with it. Challenge him.’

‘I'm with Cait.’ John spoke quietly, though there wasn't a villager in sight. ‘Let David talk. We don't even know what the blood means. Could be some kind of conspiracy, with all the Newtowners involved, could just be one or two people.’ He looked to Frank for support.

The cyborg agreed with his creator. ‘Prudence is advisable. I still doubt the “elderly couple” story, as the tooth you found seems to be in excellent condition. As humans age, their dental enamel becomes worn away. Something is wrong here in Newtown. Caution is crucial.’

‘Whatever, we tell him we're out,’ T said.

Cait grimaced. ‘You reckon? Could piss him off.’

‘And what about the people living here?’ John stopped walking. ‘We just leave them in whatever fucked-up mess they're in?’

Frank caught John's eye. ‘We cannot make ourselves responsible for the lives of everyone we encounter, John. These people have chosen this life. I recommend we agree to stay in Newtown on a trial basis, and then abscond at night.’

‘That didn't work at Stone Point, did it?’ Cait said. ‘Vincente got murdered.’

The bot glanced in the direction of a middle-aged couple who were looking in their direction. ‘It's the only idea I can think of. Anyway, let's continue. We're attracting attention.’

When they arrived at Buck’s, they were greeted with the same enthusiasm as yesterday. He watched the man and woman more closely today. Were they part of a conspiracy? Was said conspiracy even real, or was it a figment of the AFs’ imaginations? Were the single-word blood-written message and tooth merely symptoms of one person’s troubled mind? If Buck and Lorna were indeed guilty, they were consummate actors.

David arrived and was afforded the same VIP treatment as John, T and Cait. Along with Buck and Lorna, the visitors went through to the lounge, a homely room replete with souvenirs and a substantial collection of stuffed bears. Initially, they chatted about their former lives. Once a teacher, the Elder had called Newtown home for over half a century. ‘I'm passionate about this town. I think we could be starting something good here. A new world, a new nation.’

‘So you plan to expand?’ John asked.

‘Slowly. Very slowly. I'll die of old age long before my ambitions are realised.’

‘Do you think Newtown'll survive that long?’ Cait frowned, sipping her coffee. ‘There's a lot of bad out there. Biker gangs, zombies. Even those who aren't bad, like the Comanches, are dangerous.’

‘Yes, you're right. It's a mad world. But with our community spirit, and newcomers like yourselves bringing your own skills and qualities, we'll thrive. Have you made a decision? Will you be joining us?’

The AFs were silent for a moment. Then John said, ‘Yes, we think so. We just have a few questions. Well, one, really.’

‘Fire away,’ David said, smiling.

‘What is going on here?’

‘I'm glad you asked.’

By the time the villager had finished answering queries, John felt nauseous. Since the year before last, when the augmentation virus had ended the world as he knew it, he'd been exposed to evil in various forms. But never to this extent. And never had he known such insanity be described — no, pitched — with the detachment David displayed. The old man synopsised his vision as if he were selling computer software. Although he and his friends strove to maintain neutral expressions, the distaste must've shown in their faces.

‘I accept that our way of life is… unorthodox.’ David chuckled. ‘But it is the only way. Our beliefs are proven. Now, I'm sure you have plenty to discuss. Lorna, Buck and I have business to attend to. You have an hour to give us your final decision, then you must make your choice.’

Once the villagers had departed, the AFs sat in silence for at least five minutes. Then T suddenly stood. ‘That was the choice the tooth-losing guy had to make. Death, or all that crazy shit right there.’

‘Can't say I blame him or her.’ Cait shook her head slowly, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘So is that the next step? They start knocking our teeth out?’

‘Maybe,’ John said.’ If we don't give them the answer they want.’

‘What they gonna do, though?’ T replied. ‘If we just say “thanks, dude, but no thanks, we got a better offer,” what will they do?’

‘Maybe we end up like the Pro-Churchers,’ said John. ‘In the deep-freeze. Tomorrow's lunch.’

‘Gross!’ Cait gagged. ‘Do you actually believe that’s what happened? Are they not just trying to scare us?’

‘I don't know. Why would they be trying to scare us? Anyway, the Churchers probably tried to convert them, so maybe they got worse treatment. But who knows?’ John was feeling sicker with every passing moment.

‘We could find out,’ Frank said.

‘How?’ the others chorused.

‘If one of you regurgitates your breakfast, I could test it, see if it’s human flesh.’

The enormity of his statement hit them like a sledgehammer.

‘Wait… you saying they already fed us that… that filth?’ T looked like he was about to faint.

‘I don't think getting us to regurgitate our breakfast is gonna be a problem.’ Cait had her hand over her mouth.

There was a ringing in John's ears, and it was growing louder. His vision blurred. ‘We need to get out of here.’ His voice was robotic.

Cait suddenly ran to the kitchen. Her wretches were loud and repeated, the slosh of vomit in the sink unmistakable.

John covered his ears.

Surprisingly, T was the only human who hadn't succumbed to hysteria. The only sign of agitation was his hands drumming his knees. ‘Need to think this through,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘They said they got weapons, a shit-tonne of them. Can't fight our way out. Can't run, they'll be expecting it, they'll see us, they'll shoot us down. What you think, Frank?’

‘I'm running theories, testing plans.’ The bot smiled wryly. ‘John didn't download the “escaping being eaten by murderous savages” extension to my program, so I'm at something of a loss.’

T sniggered, then laughed aloud. ‘Fucksake, man. Wish we stayed in Yonkers.’

Despite himself, John grinned. ‘Well, I didn't see this coming when I suggested leaving, believe it or not.’ Who would, though? Who would prepare for an incestuous cult of man-eaters, whose deviancy was inspired by the ludicrous theory that zombs were averse to killing people who'd consumed human flesh?

Cait reappeared, her cheeks still sallow. ‘I know it's not our biggest problem, but I don't think that meat was… you know. I distinctly remember it tasting like ham, and human… meat is meant to taste like chicken, I think.’

This is what they were reduced to, John thought: they were in denial about eating Pro-Churchers. The situation beggared belief. Literally. An idea was forming in his mind. It was embryonic, formless, but if he could just have a bit of quiet, to think —

‘Don't you think so, T?’ Cait asked. ‘It was ham, wasn't it? Because —’

‘Just shut up a minute!’ John snapped. ‘Sorry. I'm thinking. Trying to come up with something to get us out of this mess.’

‘And?’ T's arms were folded.

‘I have an idea.’

Chapter 35

The AFs left Buck’s house via the rear entry. Across his yard they walked, neither quickly nor slowly.

‘You sure they won't be pissed?’ Cait asked. ‘They said we had an hour, they didn't say we could leave the house.’

‘They didn't say we couldn't leave, either. Worst case scenario, we get caught, we have to apologise and say we were looking for them.’ John spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Are you gonna tell us your idea, then?’ T said. ‘It might help if we know.’

‘Right. But don't freak, okay?’ John's plan was simple enough. David’s story was implausible, but the AFs had swallowed it without question. They were becoming so accustomed to the preposterous that they were willing to believe anything. Judging by the Newtowners’ hypothesis – zombs being leery of cannibals – they were equally tolerant of the fantastical.

‘So we tell them a few crazy lies, hope they buy it.’ T squinted in the sun. ‘Then what?’

‘We leave.’

‘What if they see through it?’ The doubt was evident in Cait’s face. ‘And what are we telling them, anyway?’

‘We tell them what you always should tell a lunatic when you're trying to stop them becoming even more of a lunatic.’ John paused for effect. ‘We tell them what they want to hear.’

‘That didn't work at Stone Point,’ she reminded him.

‘I know, you already said that. Let's just hope it works this time. Because it's the best I've got.’

***

The sentry was smoking, as usual. He greeted the AFs with a jaunty salute and offered them cigarettes, which they accepted. John told Casper that they were searching for David.

He replied with a shrug; the Elder rarely visited the guard towers. ‘I should be able to get him on the radio, though.’ He lit another smoke.

‘Great,’ said John. ‘Do you think he'd come and meet us here? It's quite urgent.’

‘Suppose I could tell him you're at your place?’

‘Perfect. We'll meet him there.’

They waited all of ten minutes before a vehicle arrived, parking to the side of the property, out of sight via the windows.

David entered alone. Despite his advanced years, he was spry. He entered their abode and took a seat when offered. ‘You decided quickly.’ He leaned forwards in his chair, hands in his lap, fingers steepled.

‘We have. You’ve forced our hand.’ John battled to keep his voice tremor-free.

‘How so?’

‘We haven't been totally honest with you, Elder David, and I apologise for that.’

David’s expression remained inscrutable. ‘Go on.’

‘We were sent by Neraka’s president to observe Newtown. You see, you aren't the only people to realise the benefits of cannibalism.’

‘And?’

‘Like you, the residents of East Warrington, Virginia, discovered the phenomenon by accident. As did those at March, Kentucky.’ John had made up the place names; he hoped David’s geography wasn't encyclopaedic. ‘We've been sent to these areas to assess whether the practice is actually the reason for the survivors’ immunity, or if it's something else.’

‘Well, you can save yourselves any further trips. We have incontrovertible proof that we're right.’

‘Seriously?’ Cait said. ‘What kind of proof?’

David explained that whenever fugitives like the AFs arrived in Newtown, before long, they would be followed by zomb-augs, which would have to be dispatched. Every time, without fail. If the newcomers promptly agreed to live by Newtown customs, the attacks were avoided. Hence the Elders’ insistence on a diet that included human flesh. Anyone who refused was slain for the good of the collective. And their cadavers were added to the cold storage for consumption at a later date. ‘So whether you conform or not, you're helping us,’ David concluded.

‘What about the people who decide to leave?’ T asked.

‘Leaving is not an option. Not when you've been here overnight. You risk bringing enemies our way.’

John remained calm. He argued that their situation was different: it was crucial to the future of the human race that John, Cait, T and Frank return to Neraka and report their findings.

‘We don't care about the “human race” in general, John. We care about ourselves. Have you made your final decision?’

The conversation had gone no better than the AFs expected. They'd hoped for a peaceful resolution but had planned for the worst. John glanced at Frank and gave him the slightest of nods.

David spotted the gesture. ‘If you're thinking of causing trouble, don't bother. I didn't come alone. I have two men in the car, plus there's the man in the crow’s nest. Choose your actions wisely.’

‘We've already decided, David,’ said Cait. ‘We came here with a mission, but what we've seen has changed us. What you have here is special. And we're willing to compromise to share it with you. Our only real worry was that your success is a fluke, but like you say, you've proven it’s not. And if it means a change of diet, so be it.’

David looked at the AFs for a moment. His beady eyes were shrewd, but his intelligence was undermined by his arrogance. He truly believed that Newtown was a paradise, one worth committing heinous acts to protect. ‘Come with me, then.’ He stood. ‘You made the right choice, and you'll make worthy additions to our community. For the record, we've not given you any man-flesh yet. We respected your right to choose.’

Visibly relieved, the AFs rose to leave. They followed the older man across the threshold and into the sunshine. The people-carrier that'd brought David was now parked in front of the house, and its sliding door was open. Two armed men waited, their rifles held across their bodies.

‘In you get!’ David ordered. ‘Quickly now, your swearing-in ceremony begins in ten minutes.’

The soldiers glanced at their leader as he climbed into the back of the vehicle. Although they were only distracted for a moment, Frank didn't need long. He stooped, grabbed two pebbles and, using both hands simultaneously, threw the stones at the guards. Each one hit its target, leaving the gunmen temporarily blinded. Frank, without a moment’s pause, used the time to rush the injured men. They tried to bring their weapons to bear but were too slow. The bot knocked them unconscious with clinical precision. Meanwhile, John looked at the guard tower. Casper the friendly sentry aimed but hesitated, gifting the AFs the opportunity to find cover behind the MPV.

‘Fire, you fool!’ yelled David, ducking in his seat.

The sniper obeyed, riddling the car with lead.

David screamed, agonised. ‘You fucking idiot! Hit them, not me.’

Frank disarmed the two injured paramilitaries. A rifle in each hand, he dived out of cover, blasting at the crow’s nest as he flew through the air.

No shots were fired in return.

‘Come on,’ T said after relieving the guards of their walkie-talkies. ‘Let's get out of here.’

‘You bastards!’ David ranted at the departing foursome. ‘We'll catch you, don't worry about that.’

Frank turned and pointed one of the guns into the MPV.

‘No!’ John said. ‘We can't kill him in cold blood. Let's just go.’

Into the woods the AFs ran. Even from a hundred metres away, the Elder’s curses were audible. Frank suddenly halted and stared at the carnage left behind. ‘It appears David’s trying to reach a radio. We should've killed him when we had the chance.’

***

Before long, the group reached an area of the forest that was as thick as the first they encountered. According to Frank’s internal navigation systems, they weren't far from Neraka. The problem they'd faced since emerging from the ground still remained, however: where was the hidden entrance? Conceivably, they could wander around for weeks without finding its location.

Perhaps, T suggested, it was safe to return to the emergency exit.

The soldiers from Newtown had been clumsy in their tracking attempts, and there had been no sign of the augmentation-free zombs. T’s idea, according to Frank, was a sound one. It gave them a definite destination and involved the least risk.

During the hike, Frank travelled by treetop, hopping from one tree to the next, maintaining an aerial view of the landscape in all directions. Occasionally, he dropped to the ground and let the humans walk on ahead. He lay in wait for any potential pursuers; then he would overtake his comrades and sprint into the distance. Therefore, a couple of hours later, when they arrived at the head of the shaft, they were confident that their journey had gone undetected. They watched the emergency exit for a few minutes but saw nothing of note.

‘Come on,’ T said.

Fatigue allayed by excitement, the AFs approached the hatch.

As usual, Frank led the way. ‘Something’s not right,’ he said.

The grille was wide open, its cover detached. Where they expected to see a hole, there was only thick, compacted soil and rubble.

‘They filled it in!’ Cait exclaimed.

‘“The Voice of the People” pulling strings.’ John simmered. ‘We're back where we started.’

‘No closer to getting back into Neraka,’ T said.

Frank seemed unconcerned, almost preoccupied.

‘So, I know I'm starting to sound like a fucked-up droid, but what next?’ Absent-mindedly, Cait prodded the earth filling the shaft with her toe. ‘Can you not dig through it, Frank?’

‘Hush,’ said Frank, standing stock-still. ‘We're not alone.’

T, who was carrying the other rifle, readied his weapon.

‘Toss the guns, or I'll shoot!’ a voice called.

Chapter 36

Cait frowned. ‘Is that —’

A shot sounded; a squirrel fell from one of the trees above. ‘I said, “toss the guns,”’ the male shouted again. He was roughly twenty metres away. ‘Toss them as far as you can.’

T and Frank complied.

‘I'm approaching you now. No sudden moves. No jerking around.’ The crunch of overgrowth was loud. Suddenly, Casper emerged, aiming his assault rifle from the hip. He looked at the AFs and nodded, slowly, the hint of a smirk on his lips. Then he saw the squirrel. ‘Ain't nobody gonna thank me for providing supper?’

***

The older man had a point, John realised. He'd told them, when they first met, that he'd been a sniper. A “decorated hero,” he'd said, with over a hundred confirmed kills.

‘If I wanted to kill you,’ Casper said, ‘you'd be dead. David, now, that's another matter. I shot him through the gut from the side. Even if Newtown had a decent surgeon, he'd be in trouble. But he'll be dead by now. He'll have suffered. Like he deserved.’

‘Why didn't you just shout to us?’ T asked. ‘You could've come with us straightaway.’

‘Needed to say a goodbye before I left. Plus, wanted to see their faces when they heard David had been slotted. And, the other Elders. I wanted them to think you guys had killed him.’

‘Why?’ John looked the hunter in the eye.

‘Because,’ Casper began, ‘then I could pick them off, one by one, while they were chasing you.’

Sat on the ground around the emergency exit, the AFs digested Casper’s account. Cait was the first to speak. ‘You obviously hated David, and everyone else there. What happened?’

Casper sighed, then told his tale. He'd joined the commune shortly after the massacre of the Pro-Churchers. He never ate his man-flesh rations, thinking their consumption was nothing more than superstition. Although the practice revolted him, he was on the run and needed somewhere safe to lay low. It wasn't until the murder of the previous occupants of the house assigned to the AFs that he realised the extent of the Elders’ lunacy.

John asked: was the fact they promoted the eating of dead human beings not proof enough?

Naïvely, Casper had come to the same conclusion as the AFs. He assumed the meat was not human in origin. Of course, he was still disturbed by the concept and its importance to the Elders. Had he intended to make Newtown his permanent home, he would've been more concerned. But the village was just a temporary safe haven. Seeing a young woman beaten before being forced to choose between death and eating her own child had opened his eyes.

‘That was only ten days ago.’ Casper’s eyes were faraway. ‘Saw her dragged out of there. She was crying. Face black and blue. Missing a tooth. Seemed like a nice kid. I asked around. Turns out her kid was sick. Too sick for the medicine they had there. Fuck knows why they wanted her to eat her dead son. But when I found out, I decided. Next chance, I was getting out. But they moved me back to town hall for a week. Think they were suspicious of me. Place is secure.’

‘That's some fucked-up shit,’ said T. He pulled a stone from under his backside and threw it at a tree.

‘Seen some shit during the war. Bad shit. Nothing like that though.’

No one said anything for a while. John’s rear was becoming numb from sitting on the hard ground, so he stood.

‘Where you guys headed?’ Casper said.

‘Trying to find our way back to Neraka,’ John replied.

‘Trying and failing,’ Cait elaborated.

‘Can't you just go back in the way you came?’

She explained their quandary.

‘Looks like you met the right fella, then.’

‘How's that?’ asked John.

‘Because I know the way. Used to live down there.’ Casper grinned. Some of the pain left his face. He'd been expelled from Neraka, he said. Having been one of the founding citizens, he knew the location of the hidden entrance.

‘Why did they throw you out?’ John asked.

‘I was a supporter of the old boss. Good man. Very good man. Didn't like his replacement much. Weren't the only one, either. But I was the only one fool enough to tell it like it was. And here I am.’

‘So you can take us there?’ John was suddenly energised. ‘Back to Neraka?’

‘Don't see why not. They might not be happy to see me. But what can you do?’

‘Let's go, then.’ Cait jumped to her feet, as did T.

‘First things first.’ Casper got up, wincing as his knees cracked. From his belt he drew two pistols, which he gave to John and Cait. ‘Took these from David’s bodyguards. We'll all need to be armed if we're gonna kill those ghouls that’ve been following you. Can't be leading them to Paradise, can we?’

‘Ghouls?’ the AFs said in unison.

‘Yup. Like zombies. But quicker. Smarter. And unless my eyes deceived me, which they never do, they got guns.’

‘Guns! No way,’ T said.

‘Yessir. Must've grabbed them off of the dead Newtown soldiers.’

***

Accessed by a narrow dirt track, the cottage sat near the edge of the forest. Its garden was overgrown. The wooden door was rotten and proved easy to breach. Judging by the dust covering its furniture, the home was abandoned long ago. At some point drug addicts had eked out an existence there; needles and blackened spoons had been discarded near the hearth. Empty baked bean tins and cigarette butts were strewn across the floor. There was a sharp smell of damp, of death, of desperation.

‘Someone liked taxidermy,’ T commented, indicating one of the stag heads bolted to the wall. A statuesque grizzly bear – which had startled John on entry – was in one corner of the lounge.

‘How long do we have to wait?’ Cait cracked her knuckles.

‘Not long,’ Casper replied. ‘They weren't far behind us.’

‘How do you know this shit?’ said T. ‘Frank couldn't see or hear them.’

‘Don't know. Used to call me superhuman in the Corps. Anyway. They'll be nearby now. Everyone apart from me and Frank need to keep walking past the window. Make it obvious we're here.’

So they milled about for a few minutes, pretending to talk.

‘Right,’ Casper said. ‘Come on, Frank.’

Both man and bot strapped assault rifles to their backs. They crept out of the house via the back door.

‘So now we just wait?’ T said.

‘Till the first shots.’ John nodded. ‘Then we get out there and start shooting.’

Five minutes passed; nothing happened.

‘Shit, man,’ T said. ‘What's taking so long?’

‘They gotta be quiet.’ Cait licked her lips. ‘So should we.’

Another five minutes. Still nothing. The window was open, so the noises of the night were audible. An owl hooted. The wind whistled through the trees. Somewhere close by a wolf howled. There was a flurry of beating wings as a bird launched itself skywards. Time had slowed to a snail’s crawl.

‘What's that?’ said John. Footsteps outside, perhaps, crunches in the foliage. ‘Are they coming?’

‘Naw.’ T rolled his neck. ‘They're tracking us, waiting for us to show the way to Neraka.’

‘Or they've been waiting for us to go somewhere confined, somewhere we can't get out of, so they can attack.’

T chambered a round in his handgun. ‘Shit. You think?’

‘No,’ said Cait. ‘They could've killed us a hundred times over, but they didn't.’ Nevertheless, she readied her rifle.

John checked his pistol: it was ready. He'd never been much of a shot, especially under pressure. Try and pick a spot on the middle of their chest, Casper taught. That way, even if John's marksmanship was awry, the bullets would still hit centre-mass. Fire three times; then switch to another target. Once the enemies are down, check their bodies to make sure they aren't still moving. If they are, aim at their heads and —

Shots were fired. Conservative double-taps.

‘Come on!’ roared Cait.

They ran out of the front door.

The ghouls were betraying their position by shooting. Caught in a hail of bullets from both sides, the zombs stood no chance. John pulled the trigger till his clip was empty. He heard T run dry; Cait fired for a couple of seconds longer. The high-powered machine gun was deafening.

‘Clear!’ Casper called from the darkness. John's shoulders slumped. Suddenly, the pistol felt twice as heavy.

‘Wait!’ Frank yelled. ‘I count just four.’

‘Shit!’ T said. ‘Where's the other little motherfucker?’

John wiped sweat from his eyes and pointed his gun into the trees, though he had no rounds left. T did likewise.

‘No movement,’ Cait whispered. ‘Be quiet.’ She aimed down her sights; hopefully, that indicated there were a couple of bullets left in her rifle’s magazine.

A branch creaked above. One twig snapped, then another. A black figure dropped to the ground and pounced on Cait in one fluid sequence of movement. Yelling, T jumped on its back; he was thrown off like a rat by a terrier. The zomb dived on T before he could scramble clear. Terrible jaws clacking, it was stopped only by T’s forearm at its throat.

Groaning, Cait reached for the rifle she'd dropped. When she clicked the trigger, nothing happened – the weapon had jammed. She tried to get up but whimpered in pain and fell, clutching her ankle.

Now the monster was pounding at T with both hands.

Rustling in the undergrowth.

Suddenly realising he was nothing more than a spectator, John launched himself at the ghoul. He pistol-whipped it twice, forehand, backhand, then hammered the top of its head. It shrunk away. On its haunches, the thing that used to be Silas snarled. Back from the grave to take revenge. Back to eat the man who'd killed him.

John should've made his feelings for Amber more obvious. He was going to die, and she would never know.

The zombie leapt.

But at the same time, a rifle cracked, and former-Silas fell short of its prey.

***

The morning journey to Neraka’s entrance was laborious. Although a steady drizzle soaked the crew, the temperature was high. Too high. Cait had sprained her ankle when attacked by the zombie formerly-known as Silas, so she had to use crutches fashioned from tree branches. After the beating he took, it’d taken ten minutes for T to regain consciousness. Now he was concussed, his nose broken, and is left forearm was bruised, possibly fractured. However, they travelled with lighter hearts. They were longer being shadowed, with just a few kilometres to cover before they could rest. And they had a prize.

The high-velocity round fired by Casper hadn't killed undead Silas. It had shattered both its femurs, though, rendering the beast immobile but spiteful. With its hands and feet bound, it was being dragged, on a leash, by Frank. Perhaps the Neraka hierarchy were already aware of unaugmented zombies. If not, they were about to receive an education.

‘Still think they won't care,’ said T. ‘Should just leave it here.’

Cait shook her head. ‘They might. They could study it, or something. Find shit out. Work out how an AugFree human can become one of those things. What do you care, anyway? You ain't hauling its ass.’

‘Yeah, but the evil fucker’s already given me a headache. And all its bitching is making it worse.’

‘Aw, quit your whining. I can barely walk over here, you don't see me crying.’

‘Getting close now.’ Casper’s eyes were busy, his expression taut. He was to escort the AFs to Neraka before vanishing into the woods. In repayment, they would argue his case to President Blanchflower. Former Nerakan Casper was now committed to her leadership, they would promise. He'd seen the error of his ways and begged for a second chance. If he was spotted, though, he risked being shot on sight. ‘See that gap in the trees?’ he said, pointing.

‘The one that seems to lead to nowhere?’ John asked.

‘Yup. Well, it don't. Lead to nowhere, that is. See how it slopes. Then hits that rock formation.’

‘The rocks aren't real?’

‘No. They ain't. You hang around long enough in front of there, someone will come. Guaranteed.’

A meadow, roughly two hundred metres in width, separated the trees under which they walked from the woods that masked the entrance to Neraka.

‘This is my limit,’ said Casper. ‘Good luck.’

The AFs thanked their guide and saviour. ‘Don't worry,’ T said while shaking hands. ‘We'll get you back inside.’

‘Don't take any risks on my account. Seriously. You owe me squat. Weren't for you, I'd still be in Newtown with the crazies. Oh, and Blanchflower. Be careful with her. She's just as nasty as she sounds. Used to be a helluva soldier herself, back in the day.’

The poignant moment was somewhat spoiled by the incessant ministrations of former-Silas. Mimicking Casper’s final salute, John, Cait, T, Frank and their reluctant companion began to cross the field. Gusts of wind made yellow waves in the navel-high grass. The earth underfoot was glutinous. A phalanx of geese passed overhead, their honks a distraction from the prisoner’s noise. John had spent the trip trying not to look at the ugly zomb. They'd gagged it twice; both times it'd chewed through the material used.

The welcoming party rose as one, as if waking from death. Wearing beige fatigues coated in blades of grass, they'd been invisible. But now they all but surrounded the group in their midst. There were at least twenty of them, mostly men, all carrying guns.

Heart sinking, John turned: the AFs’ retreat was also being blocked by silent warriors, each one with a rifle aimed at their quarry. Shit! he thought, Casper will be captured. The sounds of a struggle in the trees suggested that John's fear was already realised.

One of the soldiers, a man in his fifties who carried a pistol rather than a machine gun, raised his hand. Almost sauntering, he approached the AFs. His facial features were chiselled, not formed, his mouth a knife-slit. Without breaking stride he pointed his gun at former-Silas and shot it twice in the face.

‘What the fuck?’ blurted John.

‘Be quiet, deserter,’ the officer. ‘Unless you want the same.’

Chapter 37

Cuffs were applied. Hoods were pulled over the AFs faces.

‘Walk!’ the paramilitary captain barked.

Something hard and blunt prodded John between his shoulder blades, so he did as ordered. He shuffled forwards, a mixture of fear and outrage in his gut.

‘I'd be well within my rights to shoot you all on sight,’ the captain said.

T said, ‘We ain't deser—’

‘Shut up!’ one of the men growled. There was a thud.

T mumbled a curse.

‘If you're not inside, you're deserters,’ the officer said. ‘And you're associating with a known enemy of Neraka.’

John wanted to respond but opted to keep his own counsel. He stepped in a boggy patch of mud and almost lost his footwear.

‘Plus you brought one of those evil fuckers with you. I don't know what you're thinking. And don't bother trying to explain, I don't want to hear it.’

Grass no longer brushed John’s thighs. The ground was getting firmer; twigs crunched underfoot.

‘The final nail in your coffin is that you know where the entrance is. If it was my decision, you'd be dead already. But it's not. Don't think you're getting off easy though. You'll be reporting to Commissioner Salinsky.’

A couple of the soldiers laughed.

‘Halt!’ the leader commanded.

John froze. The other boot squelches stopped.

The crackle of a radio sounded. ‘Biggins here. We have four males, one female,’ the captain said. ‘They match the description. Will be with you in five. Over.’

Other than the call of the birds and the occasional cough, there was silence.

‘Move!’ the unit commander said.

Again, John walked. Suddenly, his feet hit smooth rock or concrete. Although the hood covering his face was a snug fit, he got the impression they were now indoors. The breeze was gone, the light dimmer. He reached to his left side and felt cold stone. Someone slapped his hand – not violently, but the unexpected assault startled him – so he dropped his arm.

‘Keep going.’ Biggins's voice had lost some of its bite: perhaps he'd been anxious out in the open.

The sole of John’s left shoe brushed a hard, straight ridge. Now the floor was hard but springy.

‘Halt!’

There was a hum of hydraulics, and John felt himself descending. They were in an elevator, on their way down to Hell.

***

Salinsky, Neraka’s Head of Law and Order, was evidently a man in demand. Either that or the AFs were low priority, because they'd been waiting for an hour. Unlike Blanchflower's, his office didn't have an antechamber. Therefore, John, T and Cait were stood in the corridor outside, with a bored-looking guard for company. Frank had been sequestered, Casper imprisoned.

‘So we just tell the truth,’ T reaffirmed. ‘We did nothing wrong. We came back soon as we could.’

‘Yeah, T, for the hundredth time, we just tell the truth.’ A muscle flexed in Cait’s jaw. Arms folded, she leaned against the wall.

‘You down with that, John?’ T asked.

‘At the risk of repeating myself,’ John said, ‘yes, I'm “down with that.”’ Privately, he didn't share his friend’s optimism. All was not as it seemed in Neraka. It'd begun as a safe haven, a place designed by honourable individuals with benign intentions. As usual, people had corrupted it. Transformed it into a political chessboard. The hunger for power and influence had taken precedence over the survival of the human race. At least, that was Casper’s opinion, and John had seen little to convince him of the contrary.

The soldier’s radio buzzed. He answered, listened for a moment, then told his charges to enter Salinsky’s room. It was as functional as the president’s was tasteless. A vaporiser rumbled in one corner: the air smelt of coconuts and spice.

The occupier was a man of unremarkable appearance. His mousy hair was thinning, his paunch just the right side of obesity. Roughly fifty, he might've been a civil servant before the apocalypse. His eyes, however, were those of an uncompromising city cop, who ignored the crime-bots’ analysis and always got his man. ‘Take a seat,’ he said. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ His accent was downtown New York, something of an anachronism these days. ‘Okay. Starting from the beginning, tell me what's happened over the last few days.’

John, Cait and T told their story. Although they tried to keep it succinct, there was a lot to tell.

Salinsky was patient, neither glancing at his watch nor responding to the flashes and vibrations of his wrist-com. When they’d finished he took a moment to reflect. ‘Now, you guys been here, what, a week? Ten days?’

‘Yeah,’ John said. ‘About that.’

‘So you won't know me. How I work. But you seem smart. You're probably wondering why I, chief cop for a decent-sized city, am dealing with you.’

John joined the others in nodding. In truth, the anomaly hadn't occurred to him. He was either still discombobulated by his experiences in the wild, or he wasn't as perceptive as he imagined.

‘All your running around outside doesn't interest me. Casper Bridgewater will be interrogated, but I don't expect to get much out of him. The circumstances which led to you being out there, now that might normally be something worth looking into. But with no witnesses, and the CCTV in that area being out, I won't be able to do anything about these so-called “Voice of the People” characters. Sorry, but that's the way it is.’

‘So what are you interested in?’ Cait asked.

‘The thing you brought back.’

‘The dead thing?’ T grinned, his eyes slightly glazed.

The commissioner returned the smile, though his was wistful. ‘Yeah, the dead thing. Captain Biggins, he… he has his ways. Whole family slaughtered by zombs. But, no excuses, I'm gonna speak to his CO. Bet he terrified you, no?’

T and Cait sneered.

Stifling a yawn, John said, ‘Did he fuck up?’

‘He has his ways, let's just leave it at that. Listen, you're free to go. Those “Voice” punks bother you again, let me know. I'm gonna issue some likely suspects with warnings, anyways. Should make them think twice next time you run into each other.’

The AFs mumbled their thanks.

‘Take a break. But I may need to call you back in, okay? So keep an eye on your messages.’

Outside, John rubbed his eyes and shook away the cobwebs. ‘That vaporiser thing, what was in it?’

‘Don't know,’ said Cait. ‘Some kind of sedative? I could sleep for a week.’

T mirrored her yawn. ‘Maybe just tiredness catching up with us. Was warm in there. Come on, anyways, let's find Amber and Curls.’

The prospect of being reunited with Amber helped dispel John's fatigue.

***

The reunion was held in a dingy, near-deserted café near the park. It lacked the passion John had envisaged. He and Amber shared a hug – her body felt good in his arms – but nothing more. She did show concern when he related their near-death experiences, but so did Curls. They finished by telling of the meeting with Salinsky.

‘He's kind of a big deal,’ Curls said.

Amber nodded. ‘Pretty much President Blanchflower's number three. How was he?’

‘Seemed relaxed.’ T frowned. ‘Like he wanted us to be relaxed.’

‘Had this vaporiser thing,’ Cait explained. ‘Made us all sleepy.’

It was Amber’s turn to look perplexed. ‘From what I heard, he's a good man. A softliner.’

‘“Softliner?”’ T and Cait parroted.

Curls laughed. ‘While you were fighting zombs and cannibals, we've been getting to know people in here. “The Voice of the People,” they're hardline. Very anti-tech. Kinda like how Silas used to be, before he went nuts.’

‘No wonder Cyril’s in with them,’ John remarked.

‘Exactly.’ Amber sighed. ‘The hardliners are all like them.’

‘So assholes, basically.’ Curls eyes hardened. ‘The softliners are more like us. Progressive. Liberal. Not assholes.’

‘What about the president?’ Cait asked. ‘What is she?’

‘Neutral,’ Amber said. ‘Supposedly. But the softliners say she's sympathetic to the hardliners, and the hardliners say she's sympathetic to the softliners.’

‘Clear as mud,’ said John. He asked if there had been any Cyril-related activity during their absence.

Amber said not. They'd seen nothing of him or his lackeys; perhaps the consequences of their intimidation had given them pause for thought.

Cait was dubious. After all, the emergency exit had been blocked, so the Voice of the People were reporting to someone with influence.

‘So we just need to be careful,’ Amber concluded. ‘Trust no one. Hopefully, we'll find out who’s to blame before they do any more damage.’

‘I'm not sure knowing who it is will help, but I suppose we'll know who to avoid.’ John clicked his tongue. ‘Any other developments? Any good news, for a change?’

‘Our passes have been upgraded for the other sectors!’ Curls said, suddenly animated.

‘Finally done this morning,’ Amber explained. ‘We were going to try them out, but then you lot arrived and spoilt the fun.’

‘Sorry for surviving!’ T pulled a hurt face. ‘We'll just stay out there next time.’

They laughed, teased and drank passable coffee for a while. Venturing out of East Sector was a tantalising prospect. But, as they admitted to each other, it also made them uneasy. However, Cait, in particular, was determined not to let fear dictate her existence. The others agreed. Cyril was making friends, influencing people, and they needed to do likewise.

‘Obviously, he was welcomed by the hardline side.’ Curls folded her arms. ‘We need to speak to softliners. They'll accept us, especially when they hear we're getting grief from the Voice of the People.’

‘Are people that divided here?’ John asked.

‘Yeah.’ Amber lowered her voice, ‘Blanchflower doesn't help matters. Some people reckon she deliberately plays one side off against the other. Anyway, you guys must be exhausted. We've not been sleeping that much either, we've been too worried. How about we take it easy today, get an early night, then do some sightseeing tomorrow?’

The others concurred.

***

As John lay in bed, T’s snoring, heavier due to the painkillers the big man was taking for his sore arm, wasn't the only thing keeping his roommate awake. Although he chided himself as paranoid, a doubt persisted: had their return to Neraka been too easy? They'd been reassimilated with minimal fuss. No curiosity about their activities above ground, despite Biggins’s dire warnings. Was their temporary exile some kind of experiment designed by the city’s hierarchy? If so, what was the motive? Frank had been quarantined once again. Perhaps he'd been programmed to reconnoitre the outside world and was now having his internal logs examined. The accompanying presence of John, Cait and T may have been incidental.

Also, there was the Amber riddle. She'd seemed to care for John before his involuntary abscondment. They'd argued about Cyril and Curls, but did that negate the mutual affection they'd fostered over the last couple of months? Before saying goodnight, she'd held his hand for a moment. In her eyes was a depth of feeling he'd been unable to decipher. There was a longing, but also a frustration. John had never been an expert when it came to body language, though.

A knock on the door sent his pulse racing. He climbed out of bed, crept across the room and opened the door.

A bleary-eyed Curls was standing in the corridor. ‘Right. No arguing. You and I are swapping.’

‘Swapping?’

‘Yeah. Amber won't shut up about you. Thought I was supposed to be the teenager! So I'm sharing with T, you're with Amber.’

John affected nonchalance, but his mouth had dried. ‘T snores pretty bad, you know. You sure?’

‘Very sure. Snoring I can deal with. Go on.’

‘Amber's okay with this?’

‘She'll have to be.’

‘What about Cait?’

‘She has her own dorm now. Some needler overdosed. I wouldn't want to live where someone just died, but you know Cait prefers to sleep alone.’

‘Okay. Night.’

Nothing to get excited about. She'll only want to talk. Don't embarrass yourself. Play it cool. Just listen. Let her say what she needs to say. Despite this self-administered pep talk, John couldn't master his baser urges. He had to wait outside Amber's room for at least five minutes before he could summon the courage to announce his arrival.

‘Coming,’ Amber said from within.

Chapter 38

When she opened the door, the look in her eyes was plain, even to him. He barely had time to register her minimalist nightwear before she took him by one hand and kissed him. Softly at first, then more hungrily. ‘I missed you,’ she said.

‘Missed you too,’ John croaked.

This time he kissed her.

She broke away; his heart dropped; but she led him into her room. Clothes were removed and cast aside. Without preamble Amber pulled John onto her bed. Lips locked together; bodies entwined.

***

The guard looked at the AFs without seeing their faces. ‘Passes, please,’ he droned.

John copied everyone else, holding his card up to be scanned. A green light indicated acceptance. They boarded the bus, but as the doors were closing, raised voices were heard. An unkempt lady was trying to evade the security staff. She was tiny, bird-like, almost feral in her appearance.

‘Fucksake!’ one of the seated passengers yelled. She looked like everyone else, tired and irritable. ‘Just let her go. Ain't doing no harm.’

Numerous fellow travellers echoed the first woman’s sentiments.

Another, an elderly man with a patrician nose, said, ‘Shoot her and have done with it! Some of us have business to attend to.’

Several people tutted at his callousness, but no one challenged him.

The u-bus hummed for a moment, then pulled away from the terminus. The hounded needler disappeared from sight. Although the vehicle was termed a “bus,” it was actually a tram, or streetcar. Powered by electricity, it ran on a single rail in a widened, heightened corridor that ran from East sector to West. Halfway along its route, the track intersected a North/South line. At this point the bus stopped. People boarded. People disembarked. A heady tang of machine oil hung in the air. At ten AM the service was at maximum occupancy, though, according to a regular commuter, it was busy most of the day.

Where were the workers going, and where had they been? John hadn't yet considered the economics of Neraka, so he turned to Amber. ‘That guy said he commutes, but where to?’

Amber laughed; there was a newfound fondness in her eyes. ‘This the first time you've thought about it?’ she asked. ‘About how Neraka works?’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ He returned her smile – they'd been grinning at each other like teenagers all morning.

‘Always too busy thinking about the bigger picture, aren't you? Anyway, remember that book they gave us when we first arrived? It's all in there. Everyone in Neraka has a job. So will we soon.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Depends. Lots of folk work in food production. There are thousands of plants to tend, tonnes of animals to rear. Others work in plastics, we're not far from an oil seam, remember.’

It still staggered John that artificial light could replace sun rays so effectively. Of course, people had been growing plants with UV lamps for years. For some reason, though, he'd never considered it possible on such a large scale. As if to illustrate, two hundred metres after the central intersection, the tram passed a “field” with its chief access doors open. Small trees stood in neat rows, as far as the eye could see. Harsh light gave the leaves an almost luminous quality.

‘See,’ Amber breathed, ‘we can make a life here.’

Her expression was so earnest that John was compelled to kiss her. When she turned away to look out of the window again, he appraised the other passengers. Was he being over-critical, or did the Nerakans appear as miserable as their pre-apocalypse counterparts? Perhaps it was the lack of daylight. Some of the most weary-looking alighted at the next stop: New Manchester. Named after the English city, not its namesake in New Hampshire, US, it was a sprawling industrial complex. As the shift-workers got off, the smell of oil faded away. The remaining crowd was more smartly-attired. White-collar workers.

‘This is us,’ Amber said at the next stop. She, Cait, T, Curls and John stood, their expressions a marked contrast to those of the other commuters.

The corridors in this area, which had grey-walled offices on both sides, were wider than East sector's. The “streets” were congested with pedestrians, even at this hour. ‘Where are we going?’ John asked, bewildered.

‘To the other side of New Athens,’ Curls explained. ‘The pleasure —’ she dodged a rushing Nerakan, ‘— the pleasure district doesn't have a bus station.’

Five minutes later, the AFs passed the final commercial property. They walked under an arch, from which hung a banner bearing, in gothic characters, the inscription, “Welcome to New Babylon.” Double doors spanning the whole thoroughfare blocked their way, but their passes triggered the locks. With a sci-fi whoosh, the portal opened.

A dimly-lit corridor, only thirty metres in length, ended at another doorway. The pulse of heavy bass music was tangible.

‘Like an airlock,’ Curls remarked. ‘An airlock in a spaceship.’

Passes weren't required for the next set of doors, though there was a weapon-detecting arch. Once they'd passed under the scanner, the doors slid open. The noise hit the visitors like a tsunami: a drumbeat with no accompanying instrumental, just the occasional wail of a female’s voice in a foreign, almost tribal, language. Even from several paces away, the lights were painfully brilliant.

‘Jesus,’ said T. ‘It looks like hell.’

‘Doesn't smell great, either.’ Cait, still limping from her ankle sprain, shared her friend’s horrified expression. But there was also a curiosity in her eyes. ‘You can't judge a book by its cover, though, so come on.’

If Babylon were a book, its manuscript remained faithful to its sleeve. The airlock was at one end of its high street. A jet-black ceiling, along with the Vegas-style neon bulbs over every unit, gave the impression of eternal night. The first building on the right had the sign “XXX LIVE SHOWS;” the one opposite was a casino. A quick glance through their respective doors revealed that the places were less than half full.

‘Still,’ Amber said, ‘pretty busy for eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning, aren't they?’

‘Hmm,’ said John. One of the casino’s customers sensed their scrutiny and shot him an evil look. ‘Let's keep going.’

The next few establishments they passed were similarly-seedy. There were a couple of sex shops, three brothels – which promised to fulfil any appetite – and a large tavern. The latter openly advertised the sale of narcotics which had long been proscribed in the USA. Looking into the distance, it seemed that bars and nightclubs dominated the main strip. Many of them offered the same services provided by their neighbouring properties.

‘Kinda reminds me of where I grew up,’ said Cait.

Eyebrows raised, John looked at her.

‘Never knew my dad. Mom was a street girl. There was a place like this in Brooklyn. Mom worked in one of the brothels, and we rented a room in the basement. Hence my narc habit, hence my rap sheet.’

Amber put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

‘Is this it?’ T asked. ‘Just one strip?’

‘Seems so,’ said Amber. ‘Limited demand, I suppose. Plus, it's a long strip.’

Indeed it was. In fact, the corridor appeared to stretch forever. Soon enough, the AFs realised the never ending high street was an illusion. About a hundred metres from the entry, it hit a dead end, but the wall was mirrored.

‘What the fuck?’ said Curls, knocking on the glass. ‘Why would they do that?’

‘Who knows?’ T frowned. ‘Like they want it to look like it's bigger.’

‘It's very…’ John began, ‘male-oriented, isn't it?’

‘Seventy percent of Neraka's population is male,’ Amber replied. ‘I guess they're, generally at least, better at surviving than us weak females.’

‘Not the case with us, is it?’ Cait said.

‘No sir.’

A handful of other Nerakans wandered up and down the corridor. Some were tourists like the NYC AFs; others were revellers travelling from one den of vice to the next. Mostly men. As the AFs turned to make their way out of Babylon, a group of youths, eight strong, emerged from a bar named “The Roadhouse.” They were drunk or high. After arguing amongst themselves for a moment, seemingly over where to go next, one of their number espied the incongruous group by the mirror. At first they appeared daunted, tricked, perhaps, by the reflection into imagining they were outnumbered. They soon realised their error.

The largest stepped forwards and wolf-whistled. His followers cackled, insulted and jeered as the objects of their ridicule passed by.

‘Is he the Voice of the People guy?’ Cait said through gritted teeth.

‘Don't think so,’ T answered. ‘Looks like him, but not as big. Maybe a relation.’ He became irate when one of the thugs staggered too close. ‘Yo, back the fuck up, asshole! Unless you wanna lose your teeth.’

The youngster held up his hands in mock surrender.

‘Woah,’ the tall one said. As he came closer, his resemblance to the Voice of the People representative encountered a few days ago became clearer. ‘Hold up. Who the fuck you think you are, threatening us?’

‘Fuck off,’ Cait spat over her shoulder.

John took Amber's hand and quickened his pace. He didn't want another confrontation. There was an element of luck involved with their escape last time. Plus, then they'd had Frank; now the bot was in “quarantine” again.

‘You're them, aren't you?’ the big fellow called at their backs. ‘The fucking robot fans. My brother got in trouble because of you.’

‘Got in trouble because of himself.’ Amber spun on her heel. She’d stopped walking, so John stayed by her side.

The tall youth’s face darkened. ‘Our pops took ill this morning. Always does when there's trouble in the family.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ said John. ‘But if your brother breaks no laws, he'll get into no trouble.’

‘Ain't that simple,’ another hoodlum said. ‘AI fucked our lives up, big time. And you softliners expect us to just keep quiet and do nothing about your robot buddies?’

‘We expect you to go fuck yourselves.’ Cait said the final three words slowly, deliberately.

John and Amber winced to varying degrees, but Curls and T shared Cait’s dire expression.

The gang members bristled. For a few heartbeats silence reigned; anyone else in the vicinity was keeping a respectful distance. Although they weren't armed, the hardliners outnumbered their enemy by more than two-to-one. The leader sniffed and said, ‘Do you know there's no CCTV in Babylon? Lot of people like to pretend it doesn't exist. Anything goes, down here.’ He cast a lascivious glance at Amber. ‘You shouldn't be associating with these losers, sweetheart. Good looking girl like you could make a ton of money in the right place, with the right management.’

‘Fuck off,’ Amber replied.

Tall man laughed, then nodded. His followers produced black blades. ‘Ceramic knives.’ The leader smirked. ‘Weapon detectors here are about a hundred years old. Gonna teach you a lesson now. When we're done, you can go switch off your robot permanently. If you don't, next time the lesson will be tougher.’

The exit was a long way away. There were no bystanders who might raise an alarm. The daggers glinted in the artificial light as the youths encircled their prey.

Chapter 39

The first punch wasn't well-aimed – it hit T on his left ear. Instinctively, the big fellow moved to fight back, but the sight of blades dissuaded him. John took the next blow. Stars obscured his vision for a moment; blood was in his mouth. T was hit in the sternum, doubling him over, and then someone kneed him in the jaw. John didn't see if his friend went down, because the next uppercut sent him sprawling to the ground. He groaned and rolled over, knowing he should stay down. Due perhaps to some form of chivalry, Amber, Cait and Curls received lighter chastisement. Pain erupted in John's ribs as a hard boot drove the wind from his lungs.

‘Not too heavy,’ the leader said. ‘Just give them something to think about.’

John received another kick, this one connecting with his healing bicep. He swore profusely.

‘Woah!’ one of the men yelled. ‘Fuck!’ Going easy on Cait had been an error; she'd tripped one of them.

‘Freeze, all of you!’ She sounded unhinged. ‘Or I'll slit his throat from ear to ear.’

The sound of jostling feet had stopped. With his good arm, John pushed himself into a sitting position.

Cait was in a similar stance, but she had one of the thugs prostrate between her legs. The fingers of her left hand were entwined in his afro hair. She held his knife in the other hand. A bead of crimson was at his throat, though it looked black in the dark. ‘I'm warning you!’ she said. ‘I'll cut him right now if you don't drop your blades.’

The tall man chuckled. ‘No, darling, I'm warning you. Let go of my buddy, or we'll kill all of your friends, then you.’

‘Just let him go, Cait,’ Amber said. ‘Please.’

‘Darius,’ the prone youngster croaked, ‘she ain't bluffing —’

‘Shut up, Buzz,’ Darius said casually. ‘Grown-ups are talking. Caity, your friend is much smarter than you. You have thirty seconds.’

Strong hands gripped John under his arms. He was dragged to his knees; a knife touched his Adam’s apple. Amber and Curls were similarly posed. Evidently, T was too heavy for the same treatment, but the youth squatting by him had his weapon ready.

‘Cait!’ Curls said. ‘Come on, we can't win this time.’

Darius tutted. ‘Okay, you wanna play it tough. Ten, nine, eight —’

A gun fired. John started, nicking his neck on the dagger.

‘Alright, alright,’ a woman said. ‘That’s enough.’

John couldn't turn and face the newcomer, as he was still held prisoner.

‘I said, “that's enough,” Darius. Let them go and get out of my sight, before I do something we both regret.’

‘You made a mistake, Sung Min,’ Darius said before walking away.

His boys were close behind, leaving the AFs to appraise their saviour.

‘A big mistake!’ Darius repeated without breaking stride.

‘Yeah, well, I've made plenty of them,’ the diminutive shotgun-toting woman muttered. ‘Come on, get up. Let's get you all a drink.’

***

The dark liquid smelt foul and tasted worse.

‘Drink it,’ Sung Min chided. ‘It'll help with the shock.’

‘How much?’ Amber asked once she'd stopped coughing.

‘You okay?’ John said, squeezing her hand.

‘Fine,’ she answered.

‘No charge,’ said Sung Min. ‘I'm not one to take advantage.’

T held out his tumbler for another shot. ‘Nice place you got here.’ His face was guileless.

The landlady looked at him, deadpan; then she hooted with laughter. ‘“Nice place,”’ he says!’

‘Seriously!’ T protested.

They were in a bar styled as a Wild West saloon. Every period stereotype was satisfied, from the swinging entrance doors to the first floor rooms utilised by prostitutes.

‘Don't worry. I'm not proud. This is just a front, anyway.’

‘A front for what?’ Curls asked.

The middle-aged proprietor eyed the teen. She raised a hand as if to buy herself time. ‘You're the ones with the cyborg, right?’

John glanced at Amber, who gave him the faintest of nods. ‘Yeah, he's one of us. Why?’

‘Are you guys hardline, like those idiots out there, or softline?’

‘Well, we ain't idiots,’ Cait said. ‘We're just trying to get by.’

‘We're softline,’ Amber confirmed.

‘Thought so.’ Sung Min showed no reaction. ‘Here's how it is.’ Neraka had been divided since its creation, shortly after the advent of augmentation. The liberals were once the dominant force. Until the rise of the zomb-augs. Those who believed AI to be the root of all evil were, in effect, proven right. The anti-AI side saw their numbers swell, eventually contributing to the ousting of the previous president, Xavier Chalmers, the man supported by Casper.

Although softliners were dominant, Babylon was as split as the rest of Neraka. The difference being that Blanchflower, like her predecessors, turned a blind eye to illegality in the pleasure zone. In doing so, she also ignored the meetings held by the two rival factions. There had recently been an uneasy peace between hard- and softliners, but Sung Min’s actions, half an hour ago, could mean open warfare. ‘So,’ she said, ‘you owe me.’

‘Look,’ said John, ‘we appreciate you stepping in and all, but…’

Amber gave John a look. ‘We really appreciate it, Sung Min. What can we do to help?’

‘Get your cyborg operational, and check him for tampering. Someone might've meddled with his programming. He could be useful. Apart from that, for now, just keep in contact. Anyway, it's noon. I've a busy day ahead. But you're welcome to stick around, meet a few people, if you like.’

***

He blinked again, gaped again. The lunch served by Sung Min had been tasty, but now it rebelled in John's stomach. Threatening to strike back. ‘And people do this for entertainment?’

‘Yeah.’ Sung Min was nonplussed. ‘People will do anything for entertainment. Granted, we cater for some pretty extreme tastes, but that's Babylon for you.’

Extreme? BDSM, underground fight clubs, they were extreme. This was sick, beyond perversion. Perhaps subterranean life, the absence of light, darkened the mind. Maybe depravity was like bacteria, always present, lurking, waiting for the appropriate conditions to breed and infect. Amber, Cait and T wore similar expressions to his own, while Curls pretended a coolness that wasn't fooling anyone.

‘Maybe people just want to hit back?’ Sung Min suggested. ‘No one has anyone to blame for what happened, do they?’

‘There are all kinds of theories,’ John argued.

‘People don't want theories. They want a punching-bag. Plus, you have to remember that we, the softliners, have refused to give into hate like the Voice of the People and their friends. We don't want to persecute people when we don't know for sure who's guilty. Surely this is better?’

John slowly shook his head. T and Cait, though, seemed more amenable to the woman’s argument. ‘It's not something I'd ever do,’ the latter began, ‘but I can sort of understand it.’

‘Well, that's your choice, but I'm not sticking around to watch.’ John softened his tone. ‘Listen, Sung Min, this is your place, your rules. I'm not judging you. And I'm grateful for your help out there before. When I've got Frank back, I'll pay you a visit.’ He finished his soda and stood to leave.

‘Use the rear exit,’ Sung Min said. ‘There's a tradesman’s route that'll save you running into Darius or his boys.’

Amber followed John, almost dragging Curls by the arm. ‘No, you’re not staying!’ she insisted.

Although Curls offered token resistance, she seemed relieved when they emerged from Babylon.

***

John hefts the sledgehammer. His body armour is secure, his helmet snug. The space is dark, silent. Featureless, odour-free. A clank from the other end of the chamber is followed by a the grind of iron against iron, and, suddenly, there's a crack of light. Said illumination is partially obscured for a moment.

The thing is silhouetted, given edges by the paltry glow. Footsteps ragged, it shambles into the room as if ashamed. The loathing in John is as palpable as its object’s presence. He simultaneously detests, fears and welcomes the zomb-aug. His fingers ache, for he's holding the weapon too tight. Closer it creeps, almost languid in its movements. Its perma-programmed desperation to destroy mankind is hampered by the weights attached to its limbs, waist and neck. John readies his hammer. Now, it's sufficiently near to discern its facial features. It was beautiful once. It used to be Amber.

With a grunt, John swings: bone crunches; blood spatters; the zomb drops to the ground. He stands over the corpse and raises his hammer.

But now, somehow, real Amber is back. She's not been turned into a monster after all, but John has obliterated her head. He falls to his knees, then onto all fours. Sobbing, he cradles her still-warm body.

***

With a strangled yelp, John woke. He sat up in bed, sweat icy on his exposed flesh, pulse pounding.

Next to him Amber stirred, unconscious hands grasping for the sheets.

John pulled the quilt over her shoulders and swung his legs out of the bunk. Using the heel of his hand, he massaged each eye, as if he could scour the nightmares from his brain. He could only properly remember the second, which featured him killing Amber. But the first dream – in which he'd had sex with a zomb – was equally disturbing.

Not for the first time, John craved fresh air: a moonlit stroll would help. In fact, he wanted to be as far as possible from the filth of Babylon. His mind drifted to the afternoon spent in Newtown. In the sun, with the wind on his face, sipping beer, eating fresh food. The man and woman with a child enjoying the simple pleasures of family life. Of course, the truth of their existence was far darker than anyone guessed, but only due to the insanity of the Elders.

There would be other such places, in the countryside, where the zombs would never tread.

Was that what he craved? He looked at Amber over his shoulder. At one time he'd been obsessed by the desire to find out who was culpable for the apocalypse. To hold them to account. Part of him still yearned for answers, for justice, but now he had Amber. Could they be that couple? Walking in the sunshine, raising a family, starting a new life untainted by the ugliness of Neraka? They could forget about President Blanchflower, Cyril, Darius and his brother, the softliners who tortured captured undead for fun.

Amber murmured in her sleep; John caressed her cheek. His last girl had extracted him from her life because of his unwillingness to undergo augmentation. Her betrayal no longer hurt and hadn't for a while. There were scars, of course: an aversion to commitment, a fear of being vulnerable. But with Amber his tendency to nihilism was weakened. T and the others helped too; they were the best friends he'd ever had.

Amber's eyelids flickered.

What was she dreaming about? Did she envisage the same shared future, or was she more pragmatic? Their love-making had been passionate yet comfortable, as though they'd been lovers for a while. ‘What's up?’ she said, making him jump. Her eyes were still shut. ‘Restless?’

‘Yeah.’ He stroked her neck. ‘Thought I'd sleep straight through, but…’

‘What you heard before bothering you?’

‘About the softliners and the zombs? Yeah, I suppose. Can't believe Cait and T… watched it.’

‘They're tough. Not like us. I mean, we're tough too, but they're bad-ass. Nothing fazes them for longer than five minutes.’

‘It's fucked up. Doesn't it bother you? That these people, the softliners, are the closest thing we've got to allies?’

‘No. Well, maybe a little. But they're better than the alternative.’ She sat up.

John waited a moment before saying, ‘What if there's not just two choices? Softline, hardline, do we want to be part of either if that's the way they are?’

‘So what's the other choice?’

He told her of the pleasant afternoon in Newtown, omitting the part about the mother, father and infant.

Naturally, she observed that this idyll had less than wholesome secrets at its heart.

However, he argued, there was no reason a similar ideal couldn't be achieved without cannibalism. The freedom enjoyed by the villagers was in spite of the Elders’ evil, not because of it.

‘Isn't that just giving up, though? You said yourself, there's a foundation here, a potential for good. Surely if you're not happy with something, you work to improve it. You don't just walk away.’

‘I know.’ John strived to keep his tone casual. ‘I know. But it's not just the weird shit going on in Babylon. This place has fucked itself up. People have done what they've always done, become divided, bigoted. Society has been sick for a long time, and if we thought a common enemy would bring us all together, bring back community spirit, we were wrong. People are just as just as bad as they've always been. Expanding, moving back above ground like Blanchflower plans, isn't going to fix that. It's all… it’s…’ He was pontificating and, from experience, knew he wasn't endearing in such a mode.

‘Well, it's sad that you think like that. Neraka's our only hope, in my opinion. It's important to me that we try and make this work.’ Amber lay down with her back to John. ’I'm gonna try and get some more sleep, anyway.’

Chapter 40

Sleep was thwarted by speculation. John's aching arm, which reminded him of Silas the psychopath every time it panged, didn't help.

Had he expected too much of Amber? They'd slept together a couple of times, but was there a profound connection between them? Would one ever develop? The previous evening, upon their return from Babylon, they'd talked for at least three hours, about their pasts, their respective traumas, childhoods, former partners. They didn't discuss the future. What was more important to her? Being with him, or assimilation into Neraka? He yearned to ask her; he ached for clarity. Redress for augmentation, the thirst for truth – they were intangibles, seemingly as distant as they'd ever been. Right now, he wanted Amber, but if he pressed the issue, he risked scaring her away.

When the knock on the door came, before eight AM, it was almost welcome. He needed a distraction. A man in military attire was about to rap again as John answered.

‘Hector?’

‘That's me.’

The soldier looked at his wrist-com. ‘You have an artificial person in quarantine. You can come collect it now.’

‘Great.’ John grinned enthusiastically; he'd missed his bot. Sometimes he wondered if Frank was his best friend. No doubt Amber would disapprove.

‘Follow me, sir.’

***

John regarded his creation with suspicion. In a low voice, he said, ‘But I'm sure if they had reprogrammed you, they'd have instructed you not to tell me.’

Frank appeared unperturbed. ‘You're probably correct, John. Without switching me off and auditing my logs, you would never know. I'm happy to undergo whatever investigations you deem necessary, though I doubt you have access to the necessary hardware and software.’

‘Forget it. I'm being paranoid.’

‘Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not out to get you.’

‘Ha ha. Come on, let's get back to the others. This room is making me feel claustrophobic.’

The holding cell was tiny, no bigger than two metres squared, and the absolute absence of furniture didn't compensate. Its door slid open.

‘Are you ready, sir?’ the private said from the corridor.

‘Yes, coming.’

‘I have orders to take you to a second location before you are dismissed.’

‘Oh… okay.’

Frank raised his eyebrows but made no comment.

‘Just this way, please.’ The serviceman let man and machine pass and followed them down the corridor towards a portal marked “RESTRICTED.” On the way, John noticed a flyer pinned to a wall, one he was noticing more often with every passing day. “VOTE YOUR #2!” the black words screamed.

The high-security area was identical in appearance to the rest of Neraka, with the same grey walls and CCTV cameras. The lighting wasn't as temperamental, though. Two retina scans and walkways later, they were outside a sealed room, waiting with their escort. A plaque next to the door bore the legend “General Blink.”

Why were they there?

Ten minutes passed, during which time John, in hushed tones, apprised Frank of developments since their readmission to Neraka. Meanwhile, the soldier appeared oblivious to their presence. Eventually, the door opened; John and Frank were ushered into the general’s office.

Blink stood as they entered. He nodded at both of his visitors and offered seating. Above average height, medium build, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, powder-blue eyes. He was close to fifty years of age, though his face was untroubled by the wrinkles caused by smiling. His desk was uncluttered. ‘Good morning,’ he began.

They replied in kind.

Hands held together as if in prayer, Blink appraised the human and his companion for a while longer than politeness dictates. ‘I wouldn't need to be a genius to guess what you're thinking.’

‘Sir?’ John said.

‘You're civilians with no connections. So why are you here?’

‘I was wondering that.’

‘The difference between you and everyone else is sat right next to you.’

‘Frank?’

‘Yes, “Frank.” Your artificial person. He's of great interest to quite a few people here, you know.’

‘So I gather.’

‘The way you've been victimised is unacceptable.’ Blink accentuated the adjective with a chop of his hand. ‘Unacceptable. But what you've got to understand is that he's the first AP we've ever had. Half the people here hate anything artificial. Frank’s presence is bound to cause a stir.’

‘I understand, General. I just don't know what I can do about it.’

‘Some of my… peers have suggested you leave, if you're not willing to give up your AP.’

John smiled. ‘I don't want to cause trouble. But I'm not giving him up. No.’

‘I don't think you should have to, I'm not hardline. You don't have to convince me. But if we're going to convince others, we need to be clever. We need to argue that you're assets to Neraka.’

‘Okay. Well you're the boss, sir.’

‘Except I'm not. You don't even need to call me “sir.”’ Blink explained that Neraka was a democracy. The military was divorced from the state; it was in place to protect, not dictate.

The general seemed like a reasonable man, so John posed a question. If the Army were forbidden from interference in civilian matters, why was it intervening in John’s case?

Because Blink saw promise in John and, in particular, the cyborg he'd built. Specifically, the sort of potential which could make Neraka a safer place.

John didn't respond. The conversation was reminiscent of the one he shared with Silas, the psychotic former leader of New York City’s AugFrees, who'd almost killed for access to John's technology.

‘We can't stay down here forever,’ Blink said with a sigh. ‘Intelligence, some of it thanks to you and your friends, suggests that zomb-aug activity nearby is intensifying.’

Frank leaned forwards in his chair. ‘If I may speak… thank you. There isn't just one type of zomb, now. This new species, creatures that used to be AugFree, are more intelligent, more deadly.’

‘The advanced zombs? Yeah. Bad news. Something tells me they'll be better at finding us than the usual freaks. So we need a plan.’

‘Which is?’

General Blink stood and indicated that John and Frank should do likewise.

***

The restricted zone was larger than John had predicted. It was at least as expansive as the area open to the public. The outer corridors aside, it was different in layout, with fewer, yet bigger, buildings. Every lane was high-ceilinged and broad. Tram-tracks were more commonplace. They didn't see any u-buses as they followed Blink into the bowels of the complex, but they passed several small vehicles.

‘Where are we going?’ John asked.

‘My playground.’ The general quickened his pace.

After at least five minutes, they arrived at a hangar. Its vast, khaki-painted door was emblazoned, in sixty centimetre high print, with the words “AREA 51.”

To gain access, Blink had to scan his eye and his fingerprint. As the roller shutter creaked into action, he turned to John and Frank. ‘I'm gonna need you to sign a waiver,’ he said. ‘Confidentiality. If you tell anyone about what you see in here, you'll be jailed, minimum six years, then exiled from Neraka.’ He pressed a button next to the retina-scanner, and the hangar door stopped. ‘You need to sign now, actually. If Frank talks, the punishment is the same.’

From under the partially-opened shutter came a scar-faced man carrying a tablet. He presented it to John, who was required to sign and apply his thumb print. Satisfied, Blink triggered the opening mechanism once more.

Inside the hangar there was a barred enclosure. The dividing fence was connected to ceiling and floor; it ran the length of the chamber, about one hundred metres. Their side of the bars appeared to be an observation platform. The other side was several times the size of the viewing area. In fact, the enclosed section was sprawling, its limits out of sight. This was partly-due to its layout, though, for the pen was not empty.

‘It's like three film sets, next to each other,’ John said. ‘Jungle, city centre, scrap yard.’

‘It's actually six, you just can't see the other three.’ Blink indicated a bank of monitors against the fence, ten metres away. ‘But if you use those, you can view any part of the cage’s interior by camera.’

‘What would I be looking at?’

‘Wait and see.’

The closest environment to the hangar entrance was the urban setting. It was realistic, too. Or, at least, it appeared so, from twenty metres’ distance. Buildings, streets, stationary vehicles and even a mobile food vendor were visible.

Frank tensed.

John followed his gaze: behind a car there was movement. A scraping, digging sound, almost rhythmic, and in the air, the unmistakable miasma of putrefaction.

Frank’s eyes flickered, so that he was now looking at the hotdog stand. Again there was a scrabbling noise.

John moved ten metres to the left. From his new vantage point, he could see a female zomb-aug. Its flesh did not have the grey tinge he'd come to expect, so it wasn't protected against EMPs. On all fours, the pitiful figure worried at the ground. Sinewy arms and hollow cheeks suggested pre-death poverty; perhaps the debt incurred by augmentation had been too much to repay. Without warning it looked up and saw its audience. It bared its teeth, then rushed the fence as if driven by the hounds of hell.

Involuntarily, John shrunk away.

The creature bounced off the bars, gathered itself and attacked again.

Hearing the clang of bone against metal, the other zomb came into view. Bulkier, taller, and male, its right shin was twisted ninety degrees from true. It ambled over to join its fellow zombie at the railings. Halfway there, its askew foot caused it to trip; it crawled the rest of the way. In the meantime, the more energetic of the pair continued to throw itself against the fence.

‘What is this?’ said John.

‘It's a lot of things.’ Blink seemed proud, almost. ‘A detention centre, training arena, a place to learn. For example, this is where we learnt that zombs are attracted to fire, to heat and bright light.’

‘Right. Where do they come from?’

‘All over. Out there, you encountered a horde —’

‘A couple of hordes.’

‘Yes, a couple. But you were very lucky. Or unlucky, depending on your viewpoint.’

John gave the general a sour look.

Blink smiled an apology. ‘What I'm trying to say, is that most of the time, the zombs wander about in groups of four to ten. Often they're on their own. Large hordes are rare. Or they used to be, at least.’

‘So they're coming together more now? Teaming up?’

‘It looks that way. Hence why we're reviewing our defence capabilities. Considering other options.’

‘But where do they came from? How do they come to be here?’

‘The Army conducts frequent scouting expeditions. We capture zombs on every trip, and at any one time, we have roughly one hundred incarcerated in Neraka.’

Frowning, John watched the undead. The former-lady was becoming less strident, as if it realised its efforts were in vain. Still prone, the other gripped the bars at knee-height.

Neither had Frank’s attention. He remained vigilant, scanning the fake cityscape for threats. ‘What about the danger of them escaping?’

‘There is none.’ Blink folded his arms. ‘Whatsoever.’

‘Impossible,’ Frank said. ‘There is always a possibility of escape. Without a thorough investigation into your security measures, I couldn't give a definitive opinion, but based on what I've seen and heard thus far, I estimate a ten percent chance of escape.’

‘Nonsense! We wouldn't take such a risk.’

‘We shall have to agree to disagree.’

‘That we shall. Anyway, I didn't bring you here to discuss the rights and wrongs of the program.’

‘So why?’ John asked. ‘Why have we come?’

‘We want to conduct an experiment.’ While absent-mindedly jangling the rods to which the male zomb clung, Blink detailed his proposal.

Once more, John was reminded of Silas. The general was neither menacing nor bullying. But there was the same arrogance, the sense that he knew best, and was willing to take great risks with the lives of others. Blink wanted to unleash Frank on the captive zomb-augs. If the bot proved a capable warrior – as anecdotal evidence claimed – he was to be replicated. The clones would form a new army capable of leading the AugFrees above ground, where humans belonged.

John asked how they planned to birth more cyborgs.

Blink informed him that the whereabouts of two 3D printers was known. One was somewhere in New Jersey, the other in the possession of the Comanches. Skilled engineers would use one of them to build more printers. With one hundred of the devices, thousands of artificial persons could be constructed in a couple of weeks. First, however, Blink wanted to see Frank in action.

John decided not to admit he knew the exact location of the New Jersey printer, for he didn't want to be forced to accompany Blink’s men as a guide. ‘You know the last person who came up with this idea went crazy and got killed?’ he said without looking away from the two zombs. Both were on their feet now, straining at the bars.

‘I know.’ Blink was watching three more zomb-augs headed their way. ‘Silas Crowe caused a lot of… trouble. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm not Silas. He was a renegade. We reached out to him numerous times, trying to bring you and your friends to Neraka. But he ignored us.’

‘Power went to his head.’

‘It did. But I'm not doing this for power. I'm doing this for Neraka, for the AugFrees. We can't survive down here forever, whatever people say. We're tearing each other apart.’

John sighed. ‘Okay. You can test Frank. Though you don't need to. He'll handle anything thrown his way.’

***

The zomb was in the crosshairs for less than a second before Frank pulled the trigger. He looked briefly at the prone figure, registering the shattered cranium. Then he moved on. He emerged from behind a car and darted across the road, glass crunching beneath his boots. Another freak, about twenty metres away, became alert. It was headshotted, too. This time, the bot saw brains blasted against a bus shelter, so he didn't hesitate before darting to the next wrecked car.

‘He’s impressive.’ General Blink was absorbed by the live feed from Frank's bodycam. ‘Efficient.’

John nodded, similarly engrossed by the holographic images. Every so often, he turned towards the fence. ‘He has no fear, doesn't doubt what he needs to do. Just gets on with it.’

As Frank crossed the street once more, three zombies appeared from one of the mock-up buildings. The cyborg fired thrice without breaking stride. All three monsters went down.

‘They're coming from that building.’ Blink pointed. ‘That's the inlet point.’

‘He knows. I hope you don't mind doing some repairs.’

Into the building went Frank. It was gloomy indoors, but that didn't slow his progress. He shot two more zomb-augs, plus a third that was coming through a meter high hatch in the back wall. Immediately, the bot slung his rifle over one shoulder and began dismantling furniture, which he piled in front of the inlet. One more enemy squeezed through – it was duly executed – before the gap was closed.

‘Does he need to do the other arenas?’ John asked.

‘We might as well. Check for any weaknesses.’

None were found. Frank conquered the rainforest, salvage yard, abandoned castle, shopping mall and a smaller-scale version of a Nerakan residential complex, slaughtering dozens of zombs along the way. He averaged 1.2 bullets per kill.

Blink was enthused. As would be Blanchflower, he claimed, when she saw the results.

‘So, are you second-in-line to the throne?’ John casually asked.

‘No. There's usually a vice president, but I report directly to Madam President, anyway. And she'll be delighted by my, or should I say, our findings.’

That was the general’s weakness. Pride. He may have been determined to protect Neraka and secure the future of her citizens, but philanthropy wasn't his overriding motive. Or was John being overly-suspicious?

‘So,’ Blink said, almost giddy, ‘we leave tonight.’

‘We?’

‘Yes. Not you, of course. My best men and I will pay the Comanches a visit. But I'll need Frank.’

‘No, that's… no.’ John gulped as Blink’s eyes hardened. ‘He's my bot. I need him for protection, I have enemies.’

‘Don't worry about those Voice of the People kids. I'll assign men to you and your friends.’

‘Still, can't this mission be done without Frank? He… I put a lot of work into him. He's not expendable.’

‘Nor are my men. And zombs aren't our only enemies, you know. It'll be useful to test him against the Comanches.’

‘I respect that, General, but —’

‘But nothing.’ Blink puffed his chest. ‘This isn't up for debate. You'll surrender Frank to me, immediately. Because when it comes to having enemies, you don't want me as one of them. I promise you.’ He eyeballed John for a moment. Then he softened his stance. ‘Consider it a favour to me, John.’

Blink’s affable manner hid an uncompromising nature. He was clearly accustomed to having his wishes fulfilled. However, he'd wanted to build a rapport with John before taking his bot, rather than using his authority from the beginning. Therefore, John decided to be bold. ‘Very well, sir. But I wondered if I could ask for that favour now.’

‘Go on.’

Chapter 41

Unlike John, who tried to hide his distaste, Amber was vocal in her criticism of the cafeteria’s food.

John smiled, as if it were his fault. Which, in a way, it was: at the moment, he was unemployed, afforded the most basic of credit allowances. The meal, his attempt to offer an olive branch, was the most his budget would allow. Unfortunately, the mediocrity of the cuisine was matched by that of the setting. It was supposedly East Sector’s premier eatery. But with its peeling paint and lopsided tables, it was tawdry at best. People making do, Neraka in a nutshell.

When the bill arrived, however, she scorned his attempts at chivalry. ‘Sake, John, which century were you born in?’

‘Just…’ he stammered, ‘I wasn't being sexist or anything.’

‘You were just being nice, I know. Don't worry, I'm only teasing.’

He laughed; the tension evaporated. ‘You don't like “nice”?’

‘Of course I do. And this is nice. Whatever the food quality. And even with those guys here.’ She tipped her head at the two soldiers seated near the entrance. One was male, the other female. Both scowled at everyone and everything.

He winced. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Stop apologising for everything! I'd rather they were here than Cyril’s psycho friends. Speaking of soldiers and psycho friends, why did you insist on Casper being released?’

‘I didn't “insist.” Blink isn't the kinda guy you insist at. And Casper’s not a psycho! He seems like a good man, and I don't like the fact he's locked up when he helped get us back into Neraka.’

‘So you've not seen the light?’ Amber cocked her head to one side. ‘Decided to make alliances, play the game?’

‘What's the point? We're small fish here, in a big pond.’

‘The point is that we have enemies. Once those soldiers have gone —’

‘I'll have Frank back.’ John pushed away his plate of pork chops.

‘He didn't protect you when you were hounded out of Neraka.’

‘No, but we'll be ready next time.’

Amber speared a button mushroom, twisted her fork and let the juices mix with gravy. ‘What happened to wanting to find out the truth? Making those responsible pay for ending the world as we knew it? Making a difference?’

John rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't want to upset Amber again, with talk of soulmates and happy families. Equally, he was unwilling to lie to her. There must be another reason for his abandonment of idealism. He explained that the idea of changing the world was a fine fantasy when one was isolated, living alone in a factory. In practice, the success of such a crusade was unlikely. Neraka was a big place with a lot of big characters, and if John and his friends put themselves in the firing line, they were likely to get shot. He endeavoured to explain his rationale without portraying himself as a coward.

It didn't work. To Amber, John was simply ‘giving up.’ They had to make Neraka a better place; it was their duty as citizens. What other option did they have? Allow themselves to be bullied by the likes of Cyril, Darius et al? Watch the last embers of the USA burnt by small men and their petty arguments? Walk away? The underground city was a flawed place, but it boasted a commodity that was rare these days: live humans. Anything else was just detail.

John made an effort to lower his voice; their exchange was drawing attention. ‘Perhaps I'm just not the fighting kind.’

‘Yes you are, John,’ Amber argued. ‘Otherwise you wouldn't have survived as long as you did.’

‘I just did what I had to do.’

‘No. You didn't have to leave the factory. When you joined the rest of us, you didn't have to oppose Silas. You could've been weak, like the rest of us. You practically led us, John. Got us out of all kinda situations.’

Arms folded, John shook his head. ‘No, no. You're the one everyone respects. And if anyone's been getting us out of scrapes, it's Frank. He —’

‘Was designed by you. Listen, I'm not saying all this to be nice. I'm saying it because it's true.’

John knew when he was beaten. ‘Okay. So say you're right. Say I'm a bad-ass. What difference does it make to anything?’

‘I'll explain. But first, you've got to promise to hear me out. In full.’ Amber raised her eyebrows and wouldn't continue until he'd nodded his assent. While John was with Blink, she'd had a meeting of her own. With Sung Min. The bar owner had sent Amber a message, asking if the softliners could rely on the NYC AugFrees’ support in the turbulent times to come. Intelligence suggested that The Voice of the People and other hardliners were planning “insurgent action.” In two days’ time, a vote was being held to decide Blanchflower's next second-in-command, a post which had been vacant for several months. Said insurgency would likely happen at the Grand Hall, a meeting place reserved for elections and presidential addresses. The threat had to be countered.

John couldn't fail to be moved by Amber's passion. Privately, he was perturbed by his own lack of feeling, though he reasoned that, unlike him, she'd been an active AF for some time. Friends, people, were more important to her than they were to him. The previous night, before the mood turned sour, he'd asked about her neck scar. Her answer shocked him: she'd never been augmented. In retrospect, the revelation shouldn't have been a surprise; after all, she'd gone straight from the streets to Silas.

Jeremy, the youngster killed by SuperAug infiltrator Mulholland, had been terrified by the prospect of having his aug chip removed. His installation procedure, performed by an unlicensed practitioner, had gone awry, leaving him comatose. His resulting fear of surgery meant he was in danger of being denied AugFree membership. To help him overcome his phobia, Amber pretended she had a chip of her own that required extraction, and they went under the knife on adjacent beds, simultaneously. Her selflessness saved Jeremy's life. His murder had hurt her more than anything she'd experienced since her father's neglect.

He wanted isolation; she wanted to be part of a community. They both wanted each other, too. For their relationship to work, they would have to compromise.

But if Sung Min were right, and violence was imminent, John would be risking his life. Having survived countless zomb-aug attacks, he could die in Neraka, in defence of a cause he'd not yet embraced. Because of an infatuation with a woman he barely knew.

Was she worth it?

***

As John walked into Babylon, hand-in-hand with Amber, side-by-side with Cait, T and Curls, he felt a sense of foreboding. The pessimism had been briefly alleviated on the u-bus by T and Cait’s tales of Babylonian excess. After watching a gladiatorial competition which pitted human fighters against zombs, they'd partied with Sung Min and her friends. They were left with a hangover that ravaged them for a day and stories they would tell for a lifetime.

Curls was fascinated yet horrified by their tale. She seemed glad Amber had stopped her from partaking. ‘I suppose I'm a bit of a chicken,’ she admitted.

‘Bullshit!’ said Cait. ‘You've killed as many zombs as me.’

‘Only because I had to. I never wanted to do any of that shit.’

‘Who does, though?’ John asked.

‘Some do. But not me. I've always been scared. When I was a kid, I was the youngest of five. Three older brothers, one sister, and Mom and Pops were over-protective like you wouldn't believe. So I was the baby. I didn't want to get aug'd, because I knew they'd have all kinds of surveillance shit programmed into me. Then, a month before I was due to be done, the apocalypse happened, and my wish was granted. No aug for me.’

Amber, Cait and T had evidently heard the story before.

The former let go of John's hand and took Curls's instead. ‘You shouldn't feel guilty,’ the older woman said.

‘I know. But no matter how many times you guys tell me that, I still feel like I wished them dead.’

Everyone fell silent. It was a miserable tale, but it was no worse than most people's.

John's private thoughts were plagued by self-doubt. He'd left Asquith’s fuelled by a desire for revenge; now he was driven by his feelings for a woman. They were the sort of reasons that might inspire a movie’s protagonist. He worried that if his motives were trivial, his goals would be doomed to failure. Of course, the rational part of him advised that likelihood of success would be decided by the actions he and his allies took, along with circumstances beyond their control. There was no cosmic force at play. They would not be rewarded or punished for their intent. Nevertheless, he was filled with apprehension.

‘You okay?’ Amber asked as they passed the first neon lights.

‘Yeah. You?’

‘Sure. We're just going to talk, remember.’

When they arrived at Sung Min’s place, “The Six-Shooter,” the owner invited them to her office.

John asked their armed guard to wait at the bar of the establishment. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, he followed his friends. In the private area, Sung Min didn't sit, nor did she ask her guests to do so. Instead, she conducted them to the back corridor that led to the rest of Neraka. Once there, they went through another door into a small warehouse, in which the floor space was cluttered with boxes of alcohol and other supplies. In the centre of the room was a circle of twenty folding chairs. John was reminded of an old film he'd watched, in which the characters sat in a circle and discussed their addiction to narcotics – back when their abuse was illegal.

Six of the places were already taken. Sung Min gestured for the NYC AFs to sit.

Those seated were an unlikely mix. The eldest was in his eighth decade, the youngest a woman barely in her twenties, and racially they were equally diverse. One characteristic they shared, however, was a sober disposition. They sat in silence, remaining so even when others arrived and took seats. Eventually, every chair was occupied.

Sung Min began proceedings. Bureaucracy was paramount, with each person taking an inordinate length of time to introduce themselves and reference the group they represented. John's initial trepidation gave way to bewilderment and then boredom.

After much procrastination, he and his friends were instructed to tell their story. From the moment they turned against Silas – including the provocation for their rebellion – to their decision to meet with the softline council. Little emotion was shown by the councillors, who brought the summit to an abrupt close. ‘We will consider your case,’ a middle-aged woman said. ‘And we will be in contact.’ She and her fellows left, leaving the AFs with Sung Min.

‘I know, I know,’ the bar landlady said. ‘They're a weird bunch, most of them, and the normal ones, like me, go along with the weirdness because that's the way it's always been.’

‘So… what now?’ asked Amber as she stood.

‘You may as well wait here. I'll be back in half an hour or so, with the rest. Oh, by the way, one of you mentioned “the softline council.” Don't use that term in front of the others.’

‘Why?’ T asked.

‘“Softliners” is what the hardliners call us. It doesn't bother me, but our proper name is “The Council of the Owl’s Eye.” “The Owls” for short. Anyway, I've got to go.’ Sung Min left.

Everyone let out a breath. First Curls laughed, then T; soon they were all chuckling.

‘What the fuck?’ Cait said.

‘Talk about pompous,’ said Amber.

‘I sorta got the feeling we were on trial.’ T cracked his knuckles.

‘Yeah, but for what?’ said John.

***

The Owls returned after an hour. Their demeanour was transformed, to the extent that John wondered if they suffered from some form of collective mental illness. They praised the NYC AFs for their dynamism and survival instincts. Perhaps most telling was their declaration that former president Xavier Chalmers would've approved of Neraka’s newest residents.

‘President Chalmers was a man of great judgment, of exemplary morals,’ a prematurely-greying man in his early thirties said. ‘He would've been blown away by you fellows. Especially you, John. You've done great things, friend. Your journey is legendary.’

‘You survived alone for so long,’ an older woman gushed. ‘And you did so by embracing technology, not hiding from it.’

John coloured. Adulation from Amber made him feel self-conscious; from strangers it was even worse.

‘So we're settled.’ Even the old man, who'd been the most curmudgeonly earlier, was grinning. ‘Welcome to The Owls! You will attend the Grand Hall for the Vice-Presidential election. And I'm sure we can count on your votes.’

For a moment no one spoke – they'd not yet discussed the ballot, let alone learnt anything about the candidates.

Amber cut short the silence. ‘Of course, we'll be there. We thank you, Councillors.’

‘I hope you'll be ready.’ The teenaged Owl, who'd been more reserved than her peers, spoke evenly. ‘Precautions are being taken, but we expect trouble from The Voice of the People. You better bring that survival instinct with you.’

***

The Grand Hall was aptly-named. Housed close to the well-heeled district, Asgard, it had a capacity of over ten thousand. As John queued for entry in the broad corridor outside the hall, he felt true claustrophobia for the first time since becoming a Nerakan. The line snaked between stanchions and rope barriers. Waiting voters were compacted into as tight a space as possible. The buzz of a hundred simultaneous conversations competed with the calls of partisan speakers still canvassing. It was warm, stuffy and smelly. John’s feet ached; he was developing a headache; he was eager to cast his vote and escape. Amber was more content, though even her patience was waning.

The previous day and a half, following the bizarre meeting with the Council, had passed without incident. The AFs had spent the time studying the credentials of the two nominees and learning more of the brotherhood they'd joined. Casper’s release was being “processed.” There was no word from Frank or General Blink.

Phineas Fitzwilliam, a Chicago native, and one of Neraka’s founding parents, was the Owls’ favourite. Although the safety of the city's dwellers was his primary concern, he advocated a “gradual return to a superterranean habitat.” He backed the use of technology and, if necessary, AI. Naturally, he promised to be a faithful servant to President Blanchflower and the citizenry in general. His critics claimed he was a political shark: stealthy and deadly. Some said he was a gangster in his pre-apocalypse life, while others claimed he was an arms dealer.

His rival used similar language and pledged the same support to her potential superior and the rest of the population. There the similarities ended. Texan Lauryn Chuku-Grainger was a reactionary firebrand, a hero to The Voice of the People and their ilk. She proposed the proscription of all but the most basic of computers and rejected any suggestion that Nerakans should leave their underground stronghold. Detractors said her sharp-shooting style masked a lack of intelligence.

According to a commentator employed by The Neraka Star, a daily newspaper which prided itself on its neutrality, Fitzwilliam was most likely to win. He cited recent loutish behaviour by The Voice of the People, a growing dissatisfaction with underground life and, moreover, the rumours of imminent discovery of the city by zomb-augs. Since coming to Neraka, John hadn't noticed first-hand any signs of discontent. Of course, he tended not to socialise with anyone apart from his circle of friends.

A lot rode on today's decision. The VP would have the ear of Blanchflower, who was notoriously reticent, almost indifferent, when it came to the hardline versus softline dispute. Conceivably, she might allow her number two to dictate policy in that regard. An adverse result today could lead to persecution of the NYC AFs, maybe even exile or death.

Amber had reminded John of the election’s importance several times already that day, and noon was yet to pass. She'd not mentioned the subject for at least half an hour, however. Had she detected his lack of enthusiasm and taken offence? She’d turned away from him and was signalling to Cait, T and Curls. The trio had arrived an hour later than their two friends, so they were further back in the queue.

Shifting from one foot to the other, John let out a long, silent sigh. Someone nearby had broken wind. Another had brought a baby, who alternated between wailing and coughing.

‘What's the story with Casper?’ Amber asked.

‘They're releasing him, like I asked.’ John cocked his head to one side. ‘Or so they said. He's not been in touch yet, but I suppose there are forms to fill in.’

‘Hmm. Did Blink agree to it pretty easily?’

‘Easier than I thought. Maybe they don't have much on him. He didn't really do much —’

‘Look, John.’ Amber pointed towards the front of the queue, at the area near the entrance to the Hall.

The pro-hardline speaker, a woman who'd had too many plastic surgeries, was becoming more strident. She even caused a stir by claiming that a past romantic liaison between Fitzwilliam and Blanchflower should rule the former out of contention. Her softline counterpart didn't deign to respond. Instead, he was whispering to one of the Owls.

‘Look!’ said Amber. ‘Our guy is smiling!’

‘Oh, yeah.’ John squinted. He could just about discern the softline canvasser’s smirk.

‘Perhaps they heard the results of exit polls. This is good news, John.’

Rumours were spreading. Some of the voters wore smiles; others frowned. The hardline representative was shouting, gesticulating. Police officers had to prevent her from approaching her smug rival.

‘Surely, though, they can't know anything yet?’ John said.

‘No, you wouldn't think so.’ Amber brushed hair away from her face. ‘Exit pollsters usually interview a handful of people, and how many have even voted? A few thousand? They can't know anything for sure.’

The mood was on a knife edge, teetering between order and mayhem. People were beginning to jostle. Some were no longer willing to wait their turn. And there was something else: fear. It was almost tangible, an odour rather than an emotion.

Amber was waving at the other three again, but they were arguing with a group of youths intent on overtaking them in the queue. One got too close to Curls, so T shoved him to the ground. Elsewhere in the crowd, there were similar scuffles. The belligerents were in the minority; most of the queuers were waiting patiently. But the latter weren't prepared to be pushed around.

Somewhere glass smashed. Women were screaming, children crying.

Then the first gunshots sounded.

Chapter 42

‘Get down!’ Amber yelled, grabbing John by his collar and pulling him down. Shrieks of pain and horror reverberated around the corridor.

The bodyguards assigned to protect the NYC AFs were taking potshots of their own.

A few solitary shots were followed by more concentrated, disciplined fire as the police retaliated. From a squatting position, John was virtually blind. Presumably, the constables hadn't hit their targets – if they even knew whom to shoot – because the ragged gunfire that'd started the exchange continued.

Sickening thuds were punctuated by yelps of agony as bullets found their mark.

‘Where are they?’ said Amber. ‘The shooters.’

‘Fuck knows.’ John winced as a man nearby, who had stood to run, took a round in the throat. Blood sprayed; warm droplets showered John's bare forearm. For a moment he stared at the crimson, transfixed.

‘Get down properly!’ Amber ordered. ‘We need to try and crawl outta here.’

John obeyed. He noticed others doing likewise. Anyone foolish enough to remain standing was gunned down.

Another police volley sounded. Return fire was more calculated: the lights were being targetted. Safety glass rained down in the dark. People moaned.

Pitch dark now. John crawled amidst a sea of limbs, most moving, others still. Several times he placed hand or knee in liquid. Whether it was blood or urine, he didn't know. Twice he put his weight on shattered glass. Police officers were shouting to each other, calling for torches, begging for medical assistance, urging calm. The majority of the corridor’s other inhabitants were silent, though some wept from pain or shock.

It'd been two minutes since the latest gunshots when illumination returned. One by one, the cops switched on torches, pointing them at the ceiling. ‘Attention please,’ one called. ‘Anyone injured, please stay where you are. Everyone else, please head to the closest wall and wait there.’

‘Why aren't they just getting everyone out?’ asked John.

Somehow, Amber had stayed close by. ‘There would be a crush if everyone headed for the door. They should let us in the Grand Hall, though. You okay?’

‘Yeah, you?’

‘Fine. Not injured, anyway.’

Holding hands, they obeyed the officer’s command.

Cait, T and Curls were already at the wall. ‘The fuck was that?’ the former said.

No one knew. There were about thirty human forms still on the ground, many of which were unmoving.

‘How do we even know it's over?’ Curls wondered. Even in the gloom, her consternation was apparent.

‘Motherfuckers probably used the dark to escape,’ T said. ‘I think it's done now.’

‘Keep moving,’ a cop kept repeating.

Suddenly, amongst the prone bodies, figures were moving.

John stiffened, but then he saw the stretchers and field kits. ‘This is bad.’ He surprised himself with the mildness of his tone.

‘Where were the shooters?’ asked Cait. ‘I couldn't see anyone, just people getting shot.’

‘Sure we'll find out at some point,’ said Amber. ‘They'll have an inquiry, or something.’

Without warning, the corridor was bathed in light. Industrial-size, portable lamps had been fetched, and only now was the full horror of the terror attack evident. The white marble floor was mottled red, the pattern a mixture of streaks, footprints, sprays and pools. Children were amongst the casualties. Their parents refused to leave their sides, though in many cases, the adults held dead hands.

‘Jesus Christ.’ T’s big hands formed fists. ‘The bastards.’

The citizens ignoring police orders by thronging the exit paused to look at the carnage. The sight only served to fuel their desperation.

‘It's not finished,’ warned Curls.

‘Just cool down, hun,’ T said, patting her arm. ‘We'll be out —’

An explosion at the entrance cut him off. The huddle of folk trying to leave was devastated, swept aside like toy figures knocked down by a petulant child. People were screaming without making any noise; the only sound in John's ears was that of ringing.

***

The u-bus was cancelled. None of the NYC AFs were injured, so returning home on foot wasn't much of an imposition, yet amidst the congregation headed for East Sector, there was a rumbling of paranoia and outrage. Police officers provided an armed escort but little reassurance. Soldiers had arrived. They were young men and women, though; they appeared as panicked as everyone else.

Presumably, General Blink had taken his best troops to capture the 3D printer. One half of the duo loaned by Blink was with them – his comrade had been shot. As they travelled, John and his friends remained quiet. Curls looked the most shell-shocked.

Numb but alert, John listened to the gossip that buzzed amongst the procession. The Voice of the People were the primary suspects, some opined. Any who disagreed made no counter, perhaps fearful of being branded as terrorist apologists. Hardline supporters were as vocal as their softline counterparts. They insisted that violence was unacceptable, whatever one's politics. Those present bore no physical injuries, though many were covered in dust and had blood on their clothes. The serious casualties and walking wounded had been taken to the hospital north of Asgard. However, every member of the crowd would be mentally scarred by the events of that day.

A hundred metres from the archway which demarcated entry to East Sector, the police and soldiers became more vigilant than ever. The eastward-bound Nerakans were ordered to halt. Using headsets, the officers communicated with each other in jargon and glanced up and down the corridor. One of the squaddies, a woman whose demeanour had the steel lacked by her comrades, began to eyeball the line of refugees. 'Right! Hands on heads, all of you.'

John caught Amber's eye; she frowned.

'Eyes forward! Feet apart. Anyone who moves will be dealt with severely. We'll be conducting full body searches.'

The mass of humanity was at least two hundred strong, outnumbering their escort by more than ten-to-one. Murmurs of discontent were ignored by the guards as they processed each person in turn.

'Better safe than sorry, I suppose,' whispered John.

Amber was less tolerant. 'The terrorists will be long gone by now. This is a waste of —'

There was an explosion somewhere to the west. The corridor's walls shook; dust from the ceiling showered the already-grimy citizens. Although a couple of babies burst into tears and a few children cried out, the adults were mainly calm. No doubt they craved the comparative safety of their living quarters and knew it would be achieved more quickly if they complied. No one complained.

Of the folk in that section of the line, John was second to last to be patted-down. Next to him, on the opposite side to Amber, was a short, unassuming man. He was as cooperative as everyone else. But when the young private turned away, relieved to have completed his task, the short man snatched the pistol from the rookie's belt. Within a couple of heartbeats, the gun was held at its owner's temple.

The small man kicked the soldier in the back of the leg, knocking him to his knees. ‘Hey!’ the diminutive insurgent yelled. ‘Nobody moves. All soldiers and police, drop your guns. Everyone else, on your knees, backs to the walls, hands on heads.’

As one the civilians obeyed.

The security operatives hesitated, looking to their leaders.

‘Drop your weapons and radios!’ the terrorist ordered. ‘You have three seconds. One. Two —’

Multiple clatters of steel on concrete stopped the countdown.

‘Now, all soldiers and cops, step away from your weapons, put your hands on your heads, face the opposite wall, kneel down.’

Haltingly, those he'd addressed did as bidden.

Two people stepped away from the wall, a man and a woman, and they each grabbed a discarded rifle. The man slung his over one shoulder. Then he emptied clothes from the large rucksack that’d hung from his other shoulder. He walked the length of the line, removing clips from dropped guns and collecting radios, all of which he stowed in the bag. Meanwhile, his female partner menaced the onlookers with her pilfered gun.

‘Okay,’ the first man said. ‘Very good. Keep it up, and we might all just make it out of this.’

John looked at Amber, then at his other friends. They were more angry than afraid.

‘Listen up. I only want one person here. Just one. Then the rest of you can go on your way.’

Everyone looked, left and right, at their fellow Nerakans.

‘His name is Hector, or you might know him as John. He owns a robot, and he's an enemy of this great city. He has one minute to step forwards, or I put a big hole in this guy’s head. Then I shoot the closest child.’ The gunman made a show of assessing the hostages closest to him. His gaze settled on a blonde girl aged between five and seven. ‘It'll be that girl there.’ He pointed his gun at her for an instant.

The woman by her side whimpered and hugged her daughter close.

There was a ringing in John’s ears. His stomach performed acrobatics; his mouth was dry.

The child stared at the terrorist, mouth slightly agape.

Her mother sobbed.

Other citizens were looking at each other with accusation in their eyes.

‘Come on!’ a man yelled. ‘Whoever you are, step forward.’

‘Yeah,’ a woman said. ‘You can't just let these two die.’

John swallowed. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades.

‘Maybe he's not here?’ an elderly woman suggested. ‘Please don't do something you'll regret.’

The fanatic laughed. ‘You'll all regret it if this guy gets what he wants. He and his robot will destroy everything we've worked for. You have thirty seconds.’

Heart pounding, John looked at Amber.

She stared straight ahead.

What would she do? John wondered. She wouldn't let a kid die, of that he was certain. He started to remove one hand from his head, but his muscles rebelled.

‘Ten. Nine. Eight.’

Time to act. Time to step up.

'Eight. Seven. Six.'

Be a man. Be the hero he'd always wanted to be. Even if it meant death.

'Five. Four.' The terrorist clicked his gun's safety switch.

'Please, someone!' the mother screamed. ‘Step forward, whoever you are!’

The young soldier was muttering to himself. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Cringing, John began to raise his hand.

Chapter 43

‘It's me!’ someone else shouted. 'I'm Hector.'

Apart from Amber, no one saw John's scuppered attempt at martyrdom. Everyone's eyes, and the guns of the extremists, were trained on a man who'd stepped forwards. Roughly halfway down the line, his stubbled features were just about distinguishable.

It was Casper.

After an instant of silence, the female marched towards the civilian and pistol-whipped him. The watching crowd winced; John flinched as if he'd received the blow himself.

‘Anyone follows us, they'll be shot on sight,’ the terrorist leader said. He and his two subordinates backed away, heading east, with their prisoner at gunpoint. They aimed their weapons at the group of Nerakans until they were out of sight.

No one spoke for at least five seconds. Then the female soldier rallied her unit, telling half to stay with the civilians while she headed west to call for support.

John fought an urge to vomit. ‘I should… that should’ve been me. I've got to…’ He made to follow the group, but Amber grabbed his arm.

‘Don't be stupid!’ she said. ‘They'll kill you as soon as they see you.’

T, Cait and Curls joined John and Amber.

‘Did you see who it was?’ Cait asked.

‘I know.’ John massaged the nape of his neck. ‘That's twice he's saved me now.’

‘He'll be alright, though, won't he?’ Curls asked. ‘If they were Voice of the People, Darius or his brother will know he's not you.’

‘Yeah. And they might just kill him for good measure.’

Amber suggested that the insurgents would likely be captured soon.

They would know soon enough, T opined.

Closing his eyes, John dropped to his haunches and leaned against the wall.

***

The insurrection was over by midnight. According to one of the NYC AFs’ neighbours, whose son was in the police force, General Blink had returned to Neraka with his elite regiment. Most of the terrorists were in custody, including Darius and his brother. However, it was unlikely that the siblings were the plot’s masterminds. The policeman's mother reckoned an unnamed party was responsible. ‘Anyway,’ she said, reopening her apartment door. ‘The morning's almost done. I'd best get back inside. I've work to do before the President’s big speech.’ Mrs Smithson returned to her knitting – the cottage industry's chiefs didn't tolerate tardiness.

With their four man security detail stood ten metres away, John, Amber, Cait, T and Curls tarried in the corridor. ‘No one's mentioned Casper,’ Cait said. ‘You don't think…’

John’s head dropped; Amber put her hand on his shoulder.

‘Naw. Guy's a survivor.’ T cracked his neck. ‘It'll all come out in the official report, anyhow. I'm going to the gym. Anyone coming with?’

Two of the soldiers followed T, Cait and Curls to the gymnasium, while the remaining pair posted themselves outside Amber’s room.

‘Come on.’ Amber opened the door. ‘Unless you want to go for a walk?’

John shook his head.

‘Okay. Let's see if we can cheer you up before your meeting with Blink,’ she whispered. Then, to the guards, ‘Guys, can you, you know, not stand right outside the door?’

They nodded in synchrony and moved away.

Taking him by the hand, Amber led John to bed.

***

Nerakan television comprised of three channels. The most popular played consecutive movies from the last century and a half. The second featured old sports matches. Channel Three was dominated by serials, reality TV and comedy. Everything was at least ten years old and in 2D. At times, however, all three stations were simultaneously hijacked by live footage: awards ceremonies; breaking news; presidential announcements.

Blanchflower's address, her first for two months, was scheduled for midday. Snacks at the ready, the NYC AFs were gathered in Cait’s room. It was a single-berth and the smallest, but its TV didn't have the audio and visual faults of those in T's and Amber's respective rooms.

‘What’s she gonna say?’ Curls wondered.

‘Hold up,’ said Cait, ‘I'll get my crystal ball and see.’

‘Ha-ha.’ Curls gave her friend a one-fingered salute. ‘Wise-ass.’

Amber, her eyes on the girl, smiled; John, watching both, felt glad. Despite the trauma of the previous day, the teenager was herself again. She'd been more affected by Juarez’s death and Cyril’s betrayal than by any of her tribulations since the apocalypse. Perhaps they’d been the final straw for her young mind, Amber had said. The camel’s back was healing, now.

John had been glum about Casper’s capture. However, more generally, his mind was less troubled. The hardline extremists’ strike had put matters into perspective. People had died and been maimed, and although arrests had been made, further bloodshed was likely. It was no time for navel-gazing. Hopefully, the President would have a solution.

Coverage of the 2026 soccer World Cup Final was cut short, the images replaced by a black and white message: “PLEASE STANDBY FOR AN ANNOUNCEMENT.”

‘Aw, man,’ said T. ‘We were just about to score.’

‘Sake, T,’ Cait said. ‘That game was played forty years ago. The score will still be the same as it was then!’

‘Maybe, but all we're watching now’s a blank screen. Fucking Blanchflower, interrupting shit —’

‘Hush!’ said Amber. 'It's one minute to noon, they'll be starting any minute.'

As if to confirm, the white text disappeared from the screen, leaving a black void for a moment. Abruptly President Blanchflower's visage appeared. She greeted her audience with a wintry smile before clearing her throat. 'Citizens. I speak to you this afternoon in unfortunate circumstances. I speak to you as a president in mourning, a president anxious for the future. A president at a crossroads. But, my citizens, my children, I promise you that I am a president who will take action. Firm action to repair our city, to nourish and heal, but also to punish and protect. So, please listen carefully, for there is much work to do, and I have no time to repeat myself.'

The AFs glanced at one another. Each appeared about to laugh at the pomposity of language, yet they were also compelled to listen.

'Yesterday's violence was unacceptable. Unacceptable in any society, let alone one as enlightened as ours. Neraka was designed to be a safe haven amidst a world that had fallen sick, a sickness which eventually led to the demise of much of the rest of our species. And yet it’s become a mirror image of the world we left behind. Chaotic, terrifying —'

T huffed. 'Fuck me, this woman can —’

The others hushed him, apart from Curls, who sniggered.

‘— shadow of the utopia we have built. Therefore, my allies, I ask that, as difficult as it may sound, we endeavour to put this conflict behind us. Only through unity shall we prevail. Divided, we will be consigned to the history books, like the ignorant fools we left behind. Do not fear, the fallen will be avenged, the culpable brought to account. However, such justice can only be achieved if order is maintained via the proper channels.

‘To this end, more police and military personnel will be drafted. Emergency measures will be constituted, the full extent of which will be published in the coming days.’

‘Emergency measures,’ John muttered. ‘Sounds ominous.’

Blanchflower tempered the statement with another smile. ‘In the meantime, we remain at a disadvantage. I still have no vice president, and that must be remedied. Some have argued that a vice president is superfluous, but I don't agree. We need strong leadership, we need stability. Qualities only possible with a strong, stable government. With this in mind, I will choose my own VP. I will also name a full cabinet. The executive function to allow such nominations will be enshrined in a new constitution, which will be published in due course. Phineas Fitzwilliam will be my right hand man, and I'm sure his input will prove invaluable.’

T snorted. ‘He'll be more than her right hand man, is what I've heard.’

‘Finally, citizens, I ask for your trust. My actions may be seen as bold, as unorthodox. Some may even call them undemocratic. But, citizens, trust me, trust my judgment. Together, we will restore Neraka’s greatness. Thank you all.’

The screen was black until the football match reappeared. Someone, a man in the white of England, had just scored a goal. Five seconds passed, then ten, with no comment from any of the AFs. Eventually T and Amber started to speak at the same time; the former nodded for the latter to continue.

‘No one’s going to like this.’ Amber pursed her lips.

‘Why?’ Curls asked.

‘The hardline will be pissed their guy wasn't chosen, the softline will think it's “undemocratic” or “unconstitutional.”’

‘But they'll let it slide,’ Cait asserted. ‘Because no one wants anarchy. And that's where we were headed.’

***

Both women were proven right. Over the next three days, there were rumbles of discontent in the bars, parks and workplaces of Neraka. The “emergency measures” were yet to be published in full, though they were enforced. There was no official curfew, but after eight PM, the police presence became more noticeable. The law enforcement officers were over-zealous in identifying behaviour as “undesirable.” Babylon became a members-only club to which few had access. Security services began to conduct random stop-and-searches. Citizens were arrested for the most minor of infractions. No one rebelled, however, for Blanchflower's resolution was preferable to the supposed alternative: bullets, shrapnel and fire.

Amber, Cait, Curls and T were contacted on the evening of the day after the terror strikes. They were granted employment; the enhanced security drive had created administrative jobs. John, however, was told to keep his schedule free in anticipation of a meeting with General Blink.

The summons came three days after the attack at the Grand Hall. At eight AM, as his friends departed for the business district, John headed for the restricted zone. He was greeted at the entrance by the general himself.

‘Let's walk and talk, John,’ the military man said, leading the way to his office. ‘Frank is nearly ready to return to you.’

‘Good, thank you.’ John wondered how much of the bot’s memory had been erased. Surely not everything from the mission to steal the printer, because, if so, tactical knowledge would’ve been lost.

The classified area was quiet, but there were armed guards at each door. All of whom saluted their commander as he passed.

‘He performed admirably, and he'll be returned to you soon.’ The general stooped to allow his retina to be scanned. ‘He's a force of nature, isn't he?’

‘Quite the opposite, sir.’

‘Of course. But, you are a human being, a product of nature, and you designed him. Anyway,’ Blink opened his door. ‘I didn't invite you here to talk semantics. Take a seat.’

John obeyed and sat upright, alert.

‘I believe my return favour paid dividends?’

‘Casper? Yeah, he saved my life.’

‘He’s been located, you know.’

‘Really? Where is he?’

‘Don't worry, he's not been locked up again. You'll get to thank him in person soon. He's just… assisting with police enquiries.’

‘Right. So how did the mission go?’

Blink licked his lips. ‘I can't go into specifics. There was a fight with the Comanches, we won. Thanks mainly to Frank. But our mission failed, they didn't have the 3D printer. They didn't say why or where it was. Comanches are well-known for their tolerance of… interrogation.’

‘Did you come across any UltraZombs?’

‘No..’

‘So….’ John raised his eyebrows. ‘Now what?’

‘New Jersey. You see, we know you've not been entirely honest with us, John. We checked Frank's records when we came back from Pennsylvania. You know the whereabouts of the printer in NJ. And by not telling us, you risked my men’s lives.’

John said nothing. Sweat beaded his forehead.

‘I could have you imprisoned for that. But I think you're more useful to us free. I want you to take us there, to this factory of yours.’

‘Frank can show you where it is. Hell, I can tell you where it is and give you the override codes for the doors. Why do I need to go?’

‘I don't have to explain myself. And you're in no position to defy us.’ Blink reclined in his chair and fixed John with eyes as cold as a winter sky. ‘You have a choice. You can refuse me, and be charged with treason, or you can go with us to New Jersey.’

‘Treason!?’ John stood, a reflex reaction. ‘That's bullshit. You said, the other day, that government and military were separate. So why should I be forced to give you information? I'm a private citizen, not one of your men.’

‘New constitution, new rules, I'm afraid. Blanchflower will back me on this. That's your choice, anyway. You have twenty-four hours to decide.’

Chapter 44

The u-bus rocked from side-to-side, worsening John’s nausea. He had three more stops until he reached Amber’s place of work. Hopefully, his stomach would retain its meagre contents until then. He was alone; it seemed Frank was being held pending his master's decision.

Amongst the passengers, the sense of paranoia was strong. Or perhaps John was projecting his unease onto other people. After all, how much impact would Blanchflower's new policies have on the average person? He imagined most would be prepared to sacrifice a few personal freedoms if their lives, and those of their loved ones, were safe. Governments had been exploiting fear for centuries; some had even created imaginary bogeymen to scare the populace into accepting authoritarianism.

Whether the president’s actions were simply opportunistic or something more Machiavellian remained to be seen. Least likely was the third possibility: she was legislating with the sole purpose of protecting her people, which would make her misguided rather than calculating. In any case, she was not a suitable leader. She was, Casper said, calculated and shrewd in the beginning, but she'd been behaving more erratically over the last twelve months.

In any event, Neraka was on the verge of civil war. And the victors would probably be exterminated by the undead. The city needed a balance between pragmatism and idealism, not a plotter or a fool. John smiled wryly. He could start worrying about the fate of his fellow man if he survived his trip to New Jersey; either that, or contemplate the future from a jail cell.

He was yet to decide his response to Blink’s threat, hence his trip to meet Amber. With any luck, she would have some words of wisdom. His stop reached, he alighted and took a moment to get his bearings. She was working a late shift today so was taking her lunch break at four PM. With no way to contact her at work, he could only hope she planned to eat in the cafeteria she'd enthused about the previous day.

When she saw John, she grinned, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her expression. As if she was worried his presence was indicative of over-attachment. She almost looked relieved when he said he had an urgent matter to discuss. They bought something to eat and sat. He wasn't hungry and toyed with his food, while she ate as if her meal was about to be confiscated. He let her finish, idly watching the steady procession of diners queue, purchase and consume. Then he told her of his quandary.

‘Well, to me it seems you only have one option.’

‘Which is?’

‘Go to New Jersey.’

He deflated. He'd hoped she would be more troubled by the prospect of him leaving and risking his life.

She set down her fork, reached out and touched his hand. ‘I know. I'll be scared for you, too. But I saw something today.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It's confidential, for now, but Blanchflower plans to make treason a capital offence.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah. Fuck. And I wouldn't trust the legal system. It's an even shittier version of the one we had pre-apocalypse, believe it or not. If Blink wants to screw you over, he will, believe me. You can forget about due process or innocent till proven guilty.’

John’s stomach lurched; his mouth watered. ‘It's just… I can't go back there. Anyway, Blink can't get that printer. It'll make him too powerful.’

‘I know. There's definitely more than meets the eye with him. His name comes up all the time at justice department. But, if he wants the printer, he'll get it. With or without you. Like you say, he can just check Frank's logs.’

‘So why does he want me to go?’

Amber took a final mouthful and pushed aside her plate. ‘I don't know. But you should get something in writing off him, something to say the treason charges will be dropped if you go. You heard from Casper yet?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. You probably won't. Anyway, going back to Asquith’s won't be as bad as you think. You'll have soldiers with you. You won't be expected to fight.'

John moved his own half-full dish to one side. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Again Amber leaned across the table to caress his free hand. ‘So that's three puzzles, then.’

‘Three?’

She explained. One: where was Casper? Two: why did Blink want John to travel to New Jersey? Three: why did the journey frighten him so?

John couldn't solve the first two riddles, and he didn't want to answer the third.

But Amber was insistent. Relationships relied on communication, trust. He had to open up to her and be less insular.

His reason sounded even sillier when spoken out loud. Although his nightmares were dominated by blood-soaked visions of an apocalyptic New York City, they were mere scars on his psyche. He didn't think about the zombs breaching doors and pulping human faces in his waking life. The ache in his arm, though, was a constant reminder of his battle with Silas at Asquith’s. Being alone, being threatened by someone bigger, more cunning yet insane. Returning to the factory was a prospect more daunting than a horde of mindless monsters. ‘Sounds stupid, I know.’ He felt hollow and vulnerable.

‘It's not stupid,’ she said firmly. ‘Not stupid at all. We don't get to choose what stays with us. Blink reminds you of Silas, doesn't he?’

‘Yeah. Not in his mannerisms or anything, but in his plans. He's dangerous, and he wants power.’

‘I know. But you'll have Frank with you. Anyway, it might not be a bad thing for you to get out of Neraka for a while. New Jersey is probably safer at the moment!’

‘I wouldn't go that far. But this place is a mess. It needs fixing, somehow.’

‘I'm glad you're beginning to think that way.’

Briefly, he was tempted to tell her of his dreams of heroism, of making a difference, changing the world, but he'd done enough soul-baring for one day.

‘I've got to go back to work. We'll talk more later.’ She stood, kissed his forehead and left.

***

Two u-buses, already at full capacity, had passed without stopping. It was five PM; rush hour had begun. Although Amber was working late, Curls, T and Cait were finishing work soon. Perhaps he could wait for them, and they could discuss his options on the way home. Then he remembered: they weren't based in the same building as Amber. He sighed, kicked his heels and considered walking.

‘Hey!’ the voice startled him. It was Curls, grinning as she approached. ‘You good?’

‘Yeah, fine. Just met Amber. How's the new job?’

‘Boring. All I do is file stuff away, as if I was in the nineteenth century or something. Are you waiting for me, or the others? Oh, shit, you wouldn't know, would you? Last service already went past, curfew and all that shit.’

‘Looks like we're walking, then.’

On the way, Curls chattered about her new position. John was happy to have something other than Blink’s ultimatum to think about. Besides, Curls was just a kid; she had her own trauma to process. There was no need to burden her with his woes.

Part of the walkway was closed for maintenance, so they were forced to detour through an agricultural field. The UV lights above were merciless. Sweat trickled down John’s spine.

‘You're not listening, are you?’ she said suddenly, circumnavigating a row of cabbages.

‘What?’ John trod on something hard and round. ‘Yeah, you were talking about the asshole who keeps pestering you.’

‘Five minutes ago I was. What's up? You can talk to me, you know. I might look young, but I'm an old soul. That's what my great-grandpops used to say. He was British, like you.’

‘Yeah? Whereabouts from?’

‘Nottingham, I think. He used to go on about Robin’s Hoods, or something.’

John laughed. ‘Robin Hood.’

‘That was it.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Nice changing of the subject there, by the way.’

‘You changed the subject! You… what's wrong?’

Curls’s face was etched with concern. ‘Someone’s following us. Don't look.’

Instinctively, John turned.

Six figures were coming from the west, walking quickly. They broke into a jog.

John gauged the distance to the next field, where they would find another exit to the main corridor. One hundred metres, maybe more. Then his heart sank; another gang were approaching from the east. ‘We're trapped,’ he said.

‘Shit.’ Curls lip quivered for an instant. Then she scowled. ‘We're fucked, but I'll be damned if I go down easy.’ She retrieved a torch from her pocket and clicked a button on its side. The flashlight became a metre-long cosh.

‘Got a spare?’ said John. He too was defiant. Twice already these thugs had attacked him and his friends. He was tired of being bullied.

‘No. Got this, though.’ She fished a small folding knife from her sock and opened it. The blade reflected the artificial light from the ceiling. ‘Just slash them. If you stab, you might lose the blade. And go down for murder.’

Despite the heat, John paled. He'd spilt zomb blood many times, but Silas was the only human he'd killed. Even then, a drone had delivered the fatal blows.

Now the two groups were within fifty metres. The man leading those from the east was instantly-recognisable: Cyril.

‘Bastard.’ Curls twirled her blackjack like a majorette’s baton.

The converging mobs slowed their pace. Most were male. All carried blunt-force weapons. As Cyril drew closer, the grin on his face was plain.

‘Somebody’s got to walk past soon.’ John checked in both directions but saw no one. ‘That footpath was busy. There must be others being diverted.’

‘You'd think so.’

‘So, we just have to survive till then. I've dealt with worse.’

Cyril, leading his detachment, sauntered the final ten metres. He stopped, put hands on hips and spat on the soil. ‘John. Curls. Been a while.’

‘Not long enough,’ said Curls.

Cyril’s face was like granite. ‘Let's cut the shit. You killed my brother.’ He raised a hand to deter any interruptions. ‘There has to be a reckoning for that. Has to be. Plus there's other stuff, your robot, your soft-ass beliefs. That shit needs to be stomped out, and we're good at stomping.’ He gave a single nod.

His men darted forwards, squashing vegetables underfoot.

Using her cosh like a spear, Curls jabbed the quickest man in the face; he reeled away clutching one eye.

John ducked a baseball bat swipe before slashing at its swinger’s arm, drawing blood.

The man gasped in pain and dropped his bat.

‘Fucksake!’ said Cyril. ‘Stop fooling around and kick their asses!’

The uninjured hoodlums attacked en masse. Although John repelled one with a backhand cut, he was swiftly overpowered. Dazed, battered, he dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, trying to protect his head with his hands. Still the assault continued. Some kicks hurt like hell. Others barely registered.

He was going to die.

The UV lights were losing their lustre. Blood in his mouth. Quieter now.

Darker.

‘You need to open up, John, if we're going to work out.’

‘I will. I want to.’

Why was Amber there? Why was she talking normally while he was being beaten to death?

She kisses him on the head.

Gunshots sounded, but they were far away, like fireworks at an exhibition in a neighbouring town. Hands gripped him, turned him over. The sun blazed above, though only for a heartbeat.

Darkness returned.

Chapter 45

He woke with a start. Momentarily confused, he held up his hands to ward off attack. ‘No! No!’ he blurted. He could see the furniture, the medical equipment, the sanitised whiteness, but his senses weren't connecting to reason. ‘Hey!’ Amber soothed. She stood, stopped and caressed his cheek. ‘It's okay, John. You're okay.’

‘What? Where am I?’

‘You're in the hospital. You're not hurt too badly. Bit of a concussion, is all.’

‘Hospital where?’

‘Neraka, of course.’

‘I thought,’ he paused, his thoughts a muddle. ‘Didn't I come off a bike?’

‘No, that was at the tower block. In Yonkers. Ages ago. Now you're in Neraka. You know, the underground city?’

John fell silent. Suddenly, he recalled: the beating in the field. Cyril. Curls! ‘Shit…. What about Curls?’

Amber bit her lip. ‘In a bad way. A coma. They got her real bad. Fucking bastards.’

‘Shit. I need to go and see her.’

‘No. Stay where you are.’ She elaborated: Blink’s lackeys, who claimed to have rescued John and Curls from Cyril, had visited an hour previous. When they were told his injuries were superficial, they decided to wait outside until he was conscious. Next they would have him discharged and evaluated by military physicians. As soon as he was fit, he was to travel to New Jersey. ‘So, the sooner they know you're awake, the sooner you're out of here.’

‘But I've not even given Blink my decision.’ John lowered his voice. ‘I've not even decided, yet.’

‘If you refuse to go, they'll probably just arrest you.’

John checked his watch, but it wasn't working properly. He asked Amber the time. It was just after ten in the morning, so the twenty-four hours granted by Blink had elapsed. In truth, he had made his decision. Amber was right; resisting the general was futile.

Sitting up in bed, he felt little pain, which surprised him. Had Cyril’s hoodlums truly gone easy on him compared to Curls? Why, when he was the man they hated most? His head ached, due to imponderables rather than kicks.

‘It's okay,’ Amber said, kissing his cheek. ‘Just rest.’

He yawned. ‘Right. You go and sit with Curls for a bit.’ He closed his eyes.

‘She has plenty of company. T and Cait are with her.’

‘Good.’ Wondering if this would be their final conversation, John tried to stay awake, but he was too tired. Amber kissed his forehead and held his hand as he drifted away.

‘Please, you've got to help me find her!’ The woman wears ragged clothes; her face is covered in dry blood.

‘We'll do our best,’ says John, ‘but this area is overrun. We've got an hour, tops, then we leave.’

It’s a pointless exercise, one which will likely lead to a compromising situation. But John has been a tough leader before. Last time he put the needs of many over those of a few, he was haunted by his callousness for weeks, and he still lost a friend. He turns to the others. ‘Right, guys.’

Tired, hungry faces stare back.

‘We’re searching this block for a little girl. Answers to “Hermione,” or “Herms.” Aged ten. Mum says she lost her six hours ago, so…’

They know why he can't finish the sentence. Although they recognise the hopelessness of their task, they’ve all been in the woman's position at some point. No doubt, at the time, they wished someone had been there to help them. So nobody complains. Everybody is ready.

‘Get the door, Brute.’ John hefts his axe.

Brute, who is one hundred and twenty-five kilos of muscle, sledgehammers the fire exit. Once, twice, then it buckles, and they're in.

‘She's a clever girl, she'll have hidden somewhere clever.’ The mother, fuelled by adrenaline, is keeping pace as the group of seven go door-to-door, splashing through flood water and hurdling debris.

Doesn't matter how intelligent she is, though. If the zombs have sniffed her out, she's probably dead. John doesn't say as much.

Another door surrenders to Brute’s power. Movement inside.

‘Hold up,’ Brute whispers. ‘We got company.’ Weapon held double-handed, he prods the door open with his boot.

A flurry of activity. From the darkness comes a zomb-aug, scrambling towards the humans like a chimpanzee.

Brute swings his hammer, but the creature is too close, and a glancing blow is all he can manage.

The zomb skids into the corridor.

John chops downwards, all but severing one of its arms.

Yet it refuses to quit. Leading with its good arm, it attacks Joan.

She's small, wiry but an expert with an axe. Grunting, she cleaves the zombie’s skull, splattering blood and cerebrum against the wall.

The freak drops to the ground. One eyeball, its optic nerve somehow still intact, bobs in a puddle.

John swallows. ‘Let's see what it was up to.’

But the mum is already in the apartment. Her scream pierces John’s ears and rakes at his soul.

The army medic was as detached as she was proficient. At no point during the examination did John agree to accompany Blink to the East Coast. He supposed that his silence was taken as acquiescence. Expecting a long journey, he was simultaneously relieved and horrified to be told they were travelling by helicopter. Physically, given his plethora of aches and pains, the shorter trip was a blessing, but mentally, he was ill-prepared.

When he'd said as much to the doctor, she'd responded bluntly. Whether he was ready or not, he was going to New Jersey, unless he preferred a treason charge. Blink was not known for his patience. However, John sensed the general was grateful for his assistance. So, as well as asking for a written guarantee of immunity to any treason charges, John decided to be audacious. He made a request, upon which his attendance was conditional.

At first, his fear of returning to Asquith’s was more of a phobia. An irrational aversion to a place tainted by a single event. But now, perhaps due to the nightmare from which he'd woken, he was beginning to envisage myriad catastrophes. Therefore, when Blink agreed to his request – to add Casper to the New Jersey-bound crew – John’s anxiety was partially-abated.

Casper and Frank were waiting in the Chinook. As were eight black-clad infantrymen, none of whom acknowledged John’s late arrival. The helipad was on an elevator, which took an age to ascend from Neraka to ground level. With twenty metres to go, it seemed they would be squashed by the blackness above. Then there was a creaking of gears. A crack of light appeared; it swelled, bathing the aircraft in sunlight, causing the passengers to squint. The aircraft's engines started, eliciting an ironic cheer from the soldiers. The chopper took off as soon as they were above ground. Shading his eyes, John watched the grass roll back across the helipad. For the second time in a fortnight, he was leaving Neraka and losing Amber.

The squaddies chatted amongst themselves. Frank watched, absorbing information, while John and Casper exchanged thanks. ‘Just out of interest,’ the latter began, ‘why bring me?’

John shrugged. ‘I owed you for helping us back into Neraka. Then I paid you back, but you saved my arse again, in the corridor.’

‘Plus you think I'll be useful?’

‘Yeah, there's that, too.’

‘Well, I hope you're not putting too much faith in me. I'm just an outdoorsman who can shoot straight. Where are we going? And what for?’

John described their mission.

Casper listened, stroking his stubbled chin. He looked pointedly at John's bruises and cuts and took a moment to think. ‘Seems you took a bit of a licking. Almost like you were coerced. Like you don't wanna go to the city. But that don't make sense. Because how did you pull strings to get me to come? Something strange going on. And I'd appreciate a bit more candour.’

‘Okay.’ John explained the problem with Cyril and how it related to the current climate in Neraka.

‘More like it. Now we're understanding each other. Unless there's something else?’

John shook his head.

‘We gonna be friends, you need to be straight. Besides, I've been told squat since I went back underground.’ He lowered his voice, though the soldiers were preoccupied with their pre-mission banter. ‘Get the feeling you don't trust the big chief.’ Casper tipped his head towards the cockpit.

‘You could say that. But I don't have much say in the matter.’

The older man regarded John and clicked his tongue. ‘You want a bit of advice?’

‘Sure.’

‘Think like a victim, you become a victim.’ He held up a hand to stymie John's protests. ‘Now, hear me out. You got your ass whipped by these hardline pricks. Three times now. They pushed you round. But it ain't gotta be that way. Time to start fighting back. Just because we're softline, don't make us soft.’

‘I know… but what can we do?’

‘We get this over with. Ain't no big deal. Then we sort shit out at Neraka. And we start at the top. Blanchflower's a snake. Picking a soft number two is all part of her plan.’

‘And how,’ John asked, ‘do we start at the top?’ His head was beginning to throb.

‘We pick the right leader. America’s a democracy. Last time I checked.’

***

The New York City skyline loomed large on the horizon. Despite the evil memories, John was still awed by its majesty. It was once a monument to the enterprise and hunger of man. Now the skyscrapers were like pyramids, mere remnants of a civilisation that’d reached too high, dared dreams too big.

As the helicopter lost altitude and velocity, the troops’ jokes petered out. Equipment was checked and rechecked, and conversation became purely functional. Blink joined his men, reiterated their initial orders and offered words of encouragement. Their respect for him was obvious. He'd kept them alive before; he would keep them alive again. The soldiers were confident yet alert, trusting in their weapons, training and the experience gained in similar situations. Casper wore a similar expression, with the customary laconic glint in his eye. Frank looked concerned.

‘What's wrong?’ John asked his bot.

‘Nothing is wrong with me, John.’ Frank’s voice was tranquil. ‘But you look as if you're about to be dropped into the midst of zomb-aug horde.’

‘I'm fine.’

‘You're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, John. Being returned to the site of some of the most troubling events of your life is exacerbating your condition.’

John exhaled loudly through his nostrils.

‘At one time, “facing your fears” and “getting back on the horse” were thought to be effective remedies for psychological trauma of this sort. Twenty-first century medicine points to the contrary.’

‘Yeah, well, I'm not exactly champing at the bit to get out there.’ The buildings and tarmac roads were drawing closer. John could almost feel his heart racing. They were setting down just two hundred metres from Asquith’s, in the space left by a workshop which was razed to the ground nine months ago. In his mind’s eye, he saw the zombs consumed by fire. Thrashing about as their augmentation suites malfunctioned in the heat. He'd almost pitied them at the time.

A bump signified their safe landing; immediately, the side doors opened.

‘Wait here!’ an officer ordered John. Then, to his men, he barked, ‘Out! Out! Out! Secure the area.’

Blink disembarked via the cockpit, leaving his reluctant guide, his pilot, Frank and Casper in the bird.

‘What do we do now?’ John was staring out of the window. The soldiers were acting like they did in the movies: running, crouching, covering each other. They faced no foes, however.

‘Guess we wait.’ Casper paid no attention to the men’s manoeuvres. ‘Like Blink said. Anything happening out there?’

‘No. It's deserted. But it usually was when I was here, too. The zombs came from elsewhere, from New York.’

‘Perhaps that was due to your inconspicuous behaviour, John,’ Frank suggested. ‘You stayed indoors, didn't make any noise. If you'd landed a ten tonne helicopter in the vicinity, you might've attracted more interest.’

Thirty minutes passed. The undead were still to make an appearance. When the chopper side doors opened, John started, but it was only Blink. ‘Listen up,’ he said. ‘The area’s secure —’

John interjected: ‘You can't be sure of that yet, General. They could —’

‘The area is clear, gentlemen. Time to make a move.’

‘Godspeed!’ the pilot called.

Casper and Frank grabbed the rifles and ammunition assigned to them and jumped out of the aircraft. With leaden arms and legs and a churning gut, John checked his pistol and followed the others. Despite himself, he enjoyed the first taste of fresh air. He basked in the sun for a moment and breathed in the cool breeze. Although there were no trees nearby, he could taste autumn in the air. There was a faint whiff of burning, too.

‘Smell that?’ said Casper. ‘Fire here. Maybe not today. But recently.’

Frank’s eyes were a flurry of motion as he assessed their surroundings.

The commanding officer, now amidst his men, beckoned for the civilians to catch up.

John’s first steps on terra firma took him through a puddle.

‘That's the place?’ Blink was squatting behind a charred metal barrel, his binoculars aimed at a gap between two decrepit warehouses.

John took the hi-tech device and was surprised by its weight. He peered through the eyepieces for a moment before passing the binos back to the general. ‘That's the place.’

‘Looks empty.’

Blink’s observation was optimistic to the point of stupidity; a mere ten metres of one perimeter wall were visible. Of course, John didn't say as much. ‘Why the rush, General?’

‘We're the military, John. Everything we do is in a rush. The situation might seem safe now, but it could quickly go south.’ He turned to his second-in-command. ‘Proceed, Captain.’

Using hand gestures, the junior officer – a dark-haired, ill-humoured Californian – directed his charges towards Asquith Robotics.

‘You three can hold back, with me,’ Blink said. ‘The unit will skirt the perimeter, then you can deactivate the security measures.’

‘Permission to speak, sir.’ Casper’s feet were planted, his chin raised.

‘Granted.’

‘You're hands-on, sir. Commander-in-chief. And you're on the front line. Any reason?’

Fleetingly, the general appeared irked by the man’s impudence. ‘This mission is of the utmost importance, Mr Bridgewater.’

‘Important enough to get a political prisoner busted outta jail?’

‘You were due to be released soon, Bridgewater, as you know well enough. Now, are there any more questions, or can I get back to focussing on the job at hand?’

Casper saluted and winked at John when the general turned his back.

Before long, the soldiers reported that the perimeter and its surroundings were deserted. A motion scanner indicated there was no movement within the compound. Blink led the three civilians to the main entrance, where John entered an override command which simultaneously unbarred every external and internal door. Again the troops scurried away, ducking and weaving, aiming at nothing.

Meanwhile, John conducted their CO, Frank and Casper to the south tower, where he activated his security suite. Before long, they had visuals of the soldiers as they scoured the factory.

‘How often were you attacked?’ Blink asked.

‘Once or twice a week, on average.’ John watched the tops of the walls. ‘Sometimes there would be two or three, sometimes more.’

‘What are your thoughts? Being back here, I mean, what do your instincts say?’

John looked at Casper quizzically; the older man raised his eyebrows. ‘I don't know. I don't really have an instinct for that sort —’

‘Course you do. You survived for a year on your own.’

‘I suppose… it feels empty, like nobody or nothing’s been here for a while. The doors were all unbreeched, anyway, so I'd be very surprised if they found anything inside. Unless they were outdoors, and they've gone inside as soon as I unlocked the doors.’

Frank and Casper concurred. ‘Perhaps,’ the latter ventured, ‘the zombs stopped coming because they know nobody's home.’

‘Or they, or whoever controls them, finally learnt not to come here,’ said Blink.

‘The probability of both suggestions is low.’ Frank’s tone brooked no debate. ‘The likely explanation for the lack of an undead presence is pure chance. ‘They may have come yesterday, an hour ago. They may be on their way here now. Their behaviour, when not part of a horde, seems random from the evidence I've seen thus far.’

A wind whipped through the view hatch, sending shivers down John’s spine. He shut the window. ‘How long will they take?’

‘To secure the site?’ Blink asked.

John nodded.

‘Ten minutes or so. I must say, John, you did an excellent job with the defence of this place. I don't think we could've done any better. You must —’

‘General,’ John interrupted. ‘You've been very complimentary.’ He tried to keep the irritation from his tone. ‘But why do you need me here today? You'll have the printer out in no time. And we'll be back in Neraka before sundown. Why am I here?’

‘Two reasons, John. First is pure convenience. If any of your security systems malfunction, you're here to help. Saves us using explosives and drawing unnecessary attention.’

John folded his arms.

‘And?’ Casper said. ‘Reason two?’

Blink smiled lopsidedly. ‘Well —’ His headset crackled. ‘Blink here. Report, Dupont. Over.’

Dupont was the pilot.

‘Negative, Dupont, that's a negative. Stay put. Over.’

Vexation showed on Blink’s face as he continued to listen.

‘Dupont? Where are you? Over.’

He waited.

‘What's up?’ Casper’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fly in the ointment?’

‘Zombs?’ John said.

The general ignored them. ‘Infil team, I want that target secured and extracted, on the double. Over.’

John and Casper shared a look of exasperation. On the CCTV monitors, the men in view visibly sped up.

‘However you can. I want evac in five minutes. Over and out.’ He turned to the other men in the tower. ‘We have a situation. Nothing to worry about. Just our pilot, he… left his post.’

Chapter 46

John closed his eyes.

‘His post being the fucking helicopter, our ride home.’

‘Yes, the helicopter. But I've known him for years, he's a good man —’

‘A good man with itchy feet,’ observed Casper.

‘He heard a baby cry.’

‘A baby?’ the two men chorused.

‘A baby. Said he had to go investigate. Lost his own infant son, you see.’

‘The probability of your pilot hearing a baby is less than one in ten thousand.’ Frank continued to study the security screens. ‘Has “Dupont” been assessed for post-traumatic stress psychosis? And is there any significance to the cross he wears?’

‘Listen.’ Blink stared at the cyborg, hands on hips. ‘Dupont has been my best pilot for a long time. We served in the Pacific together, for fucksake. He's no psycho. And we're going to find him.’

John considered arguing that he'd agreed to a quick, in-and-out extraction job, not a rescue. But finding the missing aviator was the right thing to do. He, Frank and Casper followed the general to Asquith’s main entrance door, where they met with Captain Khan and his team. The 3D printer was on a trolley, trailing cables in its wake like a mammoth robotic jellyfish. Steel-coloured clouds were overhead; the atmosphere felt charged. While the broad gates rolled open, Khan issued orders: the unit were to return to the landing zone and begin their search at Dupont’s last known location. The non-military personnel were to stay and guard the chopper.

‘Bring that fool back here,’ Blink added. ‘Long time since I last flew, and I don't want to brush up in this weather. Bring me back my pilot.’

Through a gap between buildings, the Chinook was visible almost as soon as they left Asquith’s. ‘Hold on,’ said Frank. ‘Does nobody else notice something odd about our aircraft?’

John frowned.

The soldiers weren't paying attention. They were advancing strategically, their eyes everywhere.

‘Fuck me,’ said Casper. ‘General…’

‘What is it? Oh. Shit.’ Blink paled. ‘Dupont, do you copy? Repeat, do you copy? Over.’

‘Somebody going to give me a clue?’

‘Our transport has been compromised, John.’ Frank pointed.

The helicopter was rotor-less.

‘Who… how…? We're fucked.’

Captain Khan was now aware of their new crisis. ‘Eyes open, boys, hostiles likely.’ He checked his motion scanner but saw nothing of note.

The soldiers spread themselves out and encircled the shorn chopper.

‘No sign of Dupont,’ a private reported. ‘No blood, nothing.’

‘Stay cold,’ a sergeant ordered. ‘Watch those buildings.’

A raindrop landed on John’s nose, and another hit his cheek.

‘Shit,’ another private complained. ‘No bird, and now rain.’

Two of his squad-mates groused in a similar fashion.

Their sergeant hushed them. ‘We starting the search, sir?’ the non-commissioned officer asked his captain.

Khan hesitated. ‘Burning. Can anyone smell burning?’

‘I can,’ said Casper. ‘But where's the smoke?’

The soldiers looked around, their equipment jingling as they moved. ‘Over there!’ one said, pointing.

From a nearby building, whose walls were scorched black in places, came a plume of smoke.

‘Big chimney,’ said Casper, blinking rain out his eyes. The column of fumes was a couple of metres broad.

‘That building's got a hole in the roof,’ a private said. ‘I noticed on the inbound.’

Khan glanced at Blink, who nodded. ‘Come on, boys. Let's check it out. Standard circle and breech.’

The general, John, Casper and Frank found protection from the elements under a bus shelter facing the smoking building.

The men were all-business once more. However, their advance was halted almost before it'd started. A high, broad steel shutter door in the wall of the target warehouse creaked as it began to open.

‘Cover!’ yelled Khan. Like one of his troops, he dropped to the ground.

The other six hid behind partially-ruined walls or discarded crates and barrels. Eight rifles aimed at the roller shutter, which rose with agonising sluggishness.

‘Hold your fire,’ the captain warned. ‘Wait for my order.’

The watching civilians waited, breath bated. John’s injured bicep began to ache; he was squeezing his fists too tight. Automatically, he looked towards Asquith’s, imagining Silas’s face, twisted by madness.

‘Looks like the place is on fire,’ Casper commented.

‘Not the whole place.’ John squatted in order to see under the shutter. ‘Look.’

Casper, Frank and Blink copied.

‘It's a cross!’ the latter said.

‘Pro-Churchers,’ Casper confirmed.

‘Thought they preferred a bloody cross?’ said John.

‘Some do. Some like fire instead. More dramatic, I suppose. Or perhaps they're racist as well as religious.’

The sliding door took more than two minutes to fully open. Apart from the burning crucifix, the building appeared empty. Still cautious, the squad investigated, skirting the disused factory before dashing inside.

Blink received updates of the men’s progress via his radio. ‘Place is deserted,’ he told the others.

‘Can't be,’ said John. ‘That cross has only just started burning. And who opened the door?’

‘I trust my men,’ Blink insisted.

‘So where's Dupont?’ asked Casper. ‘And where are the chopper’s fucking rotors?’

Blink shrugged.

‘Wait a minute,’ said John. ‘From Dupont saying he was going to check out that baby crying, to us getting outside and noticing the chopper’s rotors were missing, how long did that take?’

‘Couple of minutes,’ Frank replied.

‘How did they, whoever “they” are, manage to remove the rotors and completely disappear in the space of two minutes?’

No one answered, though Frank seemed about to speak.

Khan had left his fire-team to guard the empty warehouse and was on his way back. Soot blackened his face; suspicion furrowed his brow.

‘Someone must have started the removal procedure as soon as we went into Asquith’s.’ Frank eyed Blink. ‘Is it standard procedure, General, to leave a helicopter, in hostile territory, with only its pilot for protection?’

Blink snorted, yet didn't take his eyes off the burning cross. ‘Dupont is an excellent, versatile soldier. More than capable of guarding a chopper.’ He barely registered Khan’s return. ‘I've known him for years, for Christsake!’

‘So you're biased.’ Casper spat on the ground. ‘Let's face facts. Dupont’s a church nut. Nothing too strange about that. I've known a few. But now he's disappeared. So have our rotors. And there's a big fucking cross on fire nearby.’

John watched the smoke as it escaped the building and was whisked away by a wind growing stronger by the minute. ‘Pretty suspicious, I'd say.’

General Blink shook his head and turned his back on the three civilians. ‘We need to extinguish that cross, it'll draw attention. Khan, you're a hundred percent certain there's nobody in there?’

‘One hundred and ten percent, sir.’ Khan huddled closer to the others; the rain was now torrential. ‘Could be a hurricane. First one for months.’

‘Almost makes you wish you were back underground,’ Casper chuckled.

‘Speaking of which,’ John began, ‘how exactly are we getting back to Neraka, General?’

***

The group spent several hours in the helicopter, waiting for conditions to improve. Khan’s fears weren't realised; the storm threatened much but delivered little. Wind speeds hit a high of 100kph. There were scattered patches of thunder and lightning, torrential rain in patches. The clouds cleared just in time for dusk. But with no pilot and no rotors, they were going nowhere.

During their enforced hibernation, the atmosphere was febrile. Although it was obvious Dupont had deserted in favour of his religious friends, Blink refused to back down in front of his men. He wouldn't entertain any talk of betrayal. At one point, Khan admitted Dupont’s recent behaviour had been troubling him, which provoked the general into a rant about loyalty.

Eventually, John, Frank and Casper resorted to discussing the matter amongst themselves. Had Dupont communicated with the Pro-Churchers before the mission began? Or was his defection spur-of-the-moment? Still to calm himself after Khan's revelation, Blink intervened. He told the civilians to keep their aspersions to themselves or find shelter elsewhere. When night fell, the mood in the helicopter was as dark as the New Jersey sky.

Contact was made with Neraka military command; extraction was arranged. They'd taken the only aircraft large enough to carry their full party, however, so the rescue was to be conducted by land. Luckily, they had enough supplies to last a week. Their evening meal was eaten in near silence. The only sounds were that of the wind buffeting the helicopter’s sides, and an occasional flurry of rain against the roof.

‘What a disaster,’ John whispered.

‘Yessir.’ Casper sighed and shifted in his seat. ‘Knew it would be. From the get go. You know this is off the books?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This little outing. Ain't sanctioned by Blanchflower. Or anyone else. The general’s little project.’

‘How you know?’

‘That Dupont. Saw him in the brig. Locked up. He's not officially a pilot anymore. The other soldiers may have similar stories.’

‘So what's the play, you reckon? Power grab, once he's got the printer and made himself a few Franks?’

‘Probably.’ Casper sighed.

John noticed Khan looking their way so leaned closer to his friend. ‘What do you know of Blink? From the early days, I mean.’

The older man winced. He paused for a moment, to check no one was listening, and began. Blink came from a military family and was a decorated hero of the Korean Wars. He'd been an AugFree since the beginning, years prior to the zomb-augpocalypse. Ostensibly, he was neither hard- nor softline. But he was a pragmatist above all. Despite being a staunch supporter of usurped president Xavier Chalmers up until his removal, he zealously enforced the martial law imposed by Blanchflower as a response to unrest amongst Chalmers’s supporters. Essentially, he bent with the wind. As long as that wind would eventually propel him to a destination favourable for him. Casper had been interred as a result of Blink’s clampdown the previous year.

Frank had instinctively appointed himself lookout. With a nudge to John's knee, he warned his creator that the hushed conversation was attracting attention.

‘Care to share with the group?’ Khan asked, rousing a couple of snoozing soldiers.

‘Just talking,’ Casper replied. ‘About family and whatnot.’ And then, to John, ‘Khan’s been with Blink a long time. Been a captain for years. Never promoted.’

The wind was picking up again. An object was blown against one of the helicopter’s windows; the men became alert. Lightning flashed, and thunder answered. Everyone was tense. The Pro-Churchers were out there, somewhere, planning and plotting, no doubt.

‘Don't they usually just try and convert people, and shit?’ a brawny private said.

‘Yeah,’ another answered. ‘They only get nasty if you refuse to switch. Normally. But these guys… fuck knows what they want.’

A female private shook her shaven head. ‘Stole our pilot, stole our wings, setting fires and leaving them burning. Like they're playing with us, man.’

‘Playing with us,’ the first private echoed.

The three words resonated with the others. Even the two quiet guys – blond men who looked like brothers or cousins – voiced their concern.

‘Alright, alright,’ said the sergeant. ‘Quit your whining. Supposed to be a buncha mean motherfuckers in this bird, not a buncha pussies. Embarrassing me in front of the Captain and the General!’

‘Shall we all sing a song instead?’ the team’s second woman suggested.

‘We could do Amazing Grace,’ another male, a wiry fellow, proposed. ‘Keep those Jesus-lovers happy.’

‘Praise the Lord our saviour!’ bald girl evangelised.

The others laughed. Even Blink smiled.

John, though, was watching Frank, who didn't share the humans’ mirth.

His eyes were flickering, a sure sign that calculations were being made, stimuli assessed.

‘Frank?’ John looked sidelong at Casper, then again at the cyborg. ‘What is it?’

‘There's movement outside.’ Frank turned to gaze out of the window. ‘Lots of movement.’

‘Churchers, you think?’

‘No. More like zombs. A horde, perhaps.’

‘Quiet!’ John snapped above the banter.

‘What's wrong?’ Khan asked.

The other soldiers frowned.

‘Check your motion sensor.’

The sergeant complied. ‘Uh-oh. This is bad.’

‘Bad how?’ Khan asked.

‘We're surrounded on all sides.’

‘Where?’ Blink stood and pressed his face to the glass of the closest porthole. ‘I see nothing. There's nothing out there!’

‘They've formed some sort of a cordon, about a hundred metres away. A little far to see in this dark.’

Staring into the void, John’s eyes began to adjust. The outline of bodies was visible, a seething mass of inhumanity watching, waiting. The chopper was sealed tight and armour-plated, but he was sure he could smell the decay.

The troops checked their guns for a second time that day.

‘How many, Khan?’ said Blink.

‘A couple of thousand at least, sir.’

‘Well, we have mortars. We have the helo’s cannon. They're not even attacking yet, maybe they don't recognise the helo as an enemy.’

Casper snorted gently.

Five minutes passed: still no movement.

‘They chicken-shit, or something?’ the burly private said.

‘Maybe they saw your face, thought better of it,’ the wiry squaddie snarked.

A couple of the crew laughed.

The sergeant told them to ‘quit their blabber.’

For a moment John turned away from the window. Pressure was building in his temples, and his neck was like iron. Suddenly, there was light outside.

‘The fuck?’ said shaven woman.

‘It's the cross!’ one of the quieter soldiers exclaimed. ‘It's on fire again.’

The zombs closest to the hole-in-the-roof building were now discernible. They started to edge towards the blazing crucifix.

‘Another!’ the woman with hair blurted. She pointed in the opposite direction to the first cross. This second cross was newly-planted, and it was in the open, so its illumination was more tangible. The undead were now conflicted, unsure which fire to approach.

‘Who the fuck…’

‘We were watching, how could they —’

‘Quiet!’ barked the NCO. ‘They've stopped moving.’

He was right. The circle of undead was now stationary, held in place by the conflagrations nearby. More zombies were en route: the cordon was thickening.

‘This is bad,’ observed Casper in a low voice. ‘Some kind of link. Between the Bible-bashers and the zombs.’

‘That's fucking crazy, Casper, and you know it,’ said John. Again his arm throbbed.

‘Statistically, his forecast is not “crazy,”’ Frank stated. ‘In fact, the probability of there being no connection between the zomb-augs and the Pro-Churchers is very low.’

‘What's he saying?’ Khan asked. His face was drawn, but he sounded calm. ‘Your bot, what does he think?’

‘He thinks there's a link between the zombs and the Churchers.’

‘I could’ve told you that,’ the wiry soldier said. ‘They're working together.’

‘A team,’ shaved-head woman asserted. ‘Dead freaks and God freaks —’

‘Shut your hole,’ the sergeant spat.’ I won't tell you again. You know how fucking stupid you sound right now? Zombs and humans, working together…’ He tailed off. ‘Shit.’

Two more crosses had been ignited, one to the northwest, one to the southeast. The helicopter was in the centre of a square, by this point several ranks deep, the corners of which were marked by fiery beacons.

Suddenly, a rifle shot rang, startling the troops. Then came a second, and almost simultaneously a boom as something – a barrel, perhaps – exploded no more than ten metres from the helo. The newest fire wasn't as big as the crucifixes, but it burned bright in the dark.

‘They're moving,’ said Khan, watching his motion tracker. ‘Heading this way.’

Chapter 47

Valuable seconds were wasted as Blink and Khan debated whether to stay in the chopper or flee. The prudent answer was obvious to John: armoured or not, the helicopter would be their coffin if they remained in situ.

‘How the fuck did these guys ever make it past private?’ Casper asked. Then, more loudly, he interjected: ‘Listen. Quit your fussing. Here's what we do. Let the zombies get close. Then blast a path through them with the cannon. And make a run for it.’

Khan and Blink looked at him as if he were a military mastermind. Then the former converted Casper’s scheme into orders. The horde was advancing slowly, lending proceedings an almost anti-climactic quality. When the zombs were within thirty metres, Khan issued the command to fire. Shaven-head woman was the gunner, and she responded with relish. As the first rounds rattled into undead bodies, the Chinook’s doors were opened. The stench of putrefaction mingled with burning oil and timber. The wind was now no more than a sigh. Five seconds later, the squad, and its civilian complement, decamped.

‘Advance! Advance!’ Khan and his sergeant screamed.

John ran; Frank was by his side.

Casper was equally quick despite his age.

Blink stayed close by. He seemed as concerned with the safety of the non-combatants as his own men.

Soon, too soon, they were dashing through the cannon-carved gap in the zomb-aug line. Dodging devastated corpses. Hurdling hands grasping at their ankles. Slipping on bloodied paving stones.

Suddenly, John felt a weight on his right leg. His trousers were gripped. He lost his footing. The ground rose to meet him, driving the air from his chest. He dropped his gun. Harsh fingers gripped his left leg, then his belt, holding him down. Something loomed over him, reached down —

A rifle cracked. Once, twice, a split-second pause, once, twice again. ‘Get up, John,’ Frank said. He hauled his maker to his feet and, with his free hand, blasted another pair of monsters.

Shaven-head had stopped shooting to avoid friendly-fire, so zombs were breaking away from the pack to intercept their prey.

The soldiers, even in full kit, were swifter than John and Casper. Ten metres past the zombie ranks, they turned and laid on covering fire for the gunner, who was sprinting their way. ‘Don't stop!’ Khan hollered. ‘We ain't leaving anyone behind.’

John cringed as bullets flew past. But Blink’s elite had the marksmanship only gained by fighting live targets. They ensured their comrade, as well as John, Casper and Frank, made it through unscathed.

‘To the factory!’ John urged.

The unit looked first at him, then at their officers, and finally at the relentless morass shambling in pursuit. In the absence of official orders, they obeyed John's.

***

The initial panic had subsided, for the horde of undead seemed content to wait at the factory's main gates. They stood motionless, facing the perimeter wall as if paying homage rather than laying siege. The first couple of hours were spent preparing the site for an attack. Soldiers were posted to the most appropriate vantage points. Ammunition was distributed. Thankfully, the 3D printer had not been removed when they left the compound earlier to investigate Dupont’s desertion. John used it to spawn more bullets for their assault rifles.

Presumably, the lull in action had given the two officers the chance to reflect on their performance. But if they felt ashamed, they didn't show it. Blink was as bullish as ever; Khan wore his customary sneer.

The workshop door opened, and Casper entered. ‘Well. That was a fuck-up. A big fuck-up.’

‘I know.’ John swept the latest batch of ammo into the bucket held by his friend. ‘Thought Blink was supposed to be a general? And these his best men?’

‘They're good fighters. Every shot counted. But there's something off about this. Blink. Khan. They weren't in command out there. Like they were observing. Not leading. Plus they don't seem bothered it's all gone south.’

‘Why would that be?’

‘Dunno. Maybe it's part of some plan.’

‘What kind of plan would involve being surrounded by five thousand zombs who seem to be controlled by religious lunatics?

‘A pretty crazy one. Maybe things didn't go completely to plan. But they have the printer. We're surrounded but well-defended. With help on the way. Plus, they're getting more evidence of Frank's abilities.’

‘They've already tested him,’ John said. He was now building magazines. ‘Do you think that's why they all have cameras mounted on their helmets?’

‘Could be. And maybe there's something Blink’s not seen.’ He hefted his tub, which was now full of rifle bullets. ‘Anyway. I best get back with these. How long for the next pick-up?’

‘Twenty minutes, it'll take me. We're running low on scrap, though.’

‘Great. Add it to the list of problems Blink’s not vexed about.’

While the printer was rumbling through its second batch of empty rifle clips, John loaded it with recyclable metal. One section of the machine ground the debris into print-ready material, while the rest of the printer produced the current order. There would hopefully be enough scrap to finish the magazines and build a few proximity mines. A batch of C4 was left from the previous occasion John experimented with explosives. He’d already rearmed the two drones he'd recalled from NYC. The one that killed Silas was malfunctioning; there would probably be insufficient time to fix it.

He wiped sweat from his brow and checked the CCTV footage on the workshop's computer. Still no movement from the zombs. No burning crosses.

The door opened again.

‘You were quick,’ said John, expecting Casper.

But it was Blink who came in. ‘How are we doing?’ The general was calmness personified.

‘Fine.’

‘Plenty of ammo?’

‘Yeah. Should be.’

‘Good.’

‘Look, General.’ John turned away from his printer. ‘We're in a mess, here.’

Blink stood a little straighter. ‘I have every confidence we'll come through, John.’

‘I'm sure you do. But… I want you to be honest with me. We'll have a better chance if we're all on the same page.’

‘Of course. What do you need to know?’

First, John wanted Blink to answer the question left unsatisfied earlier: why was John’s presence necessary? Also, why had the escape from the horde been so ill-managed? Why had Dupont, a prisoner until recently, been hired as pilot? Who had authorised the mission? And, perhaps most importantly, who were they up against?

The older man sat on an ancient office chair and started to talk. John was part of the crew for two reasons. The primary was self-evident: his competence with the printer could save their lives. Relating the second reason should've embarrassed Blink, but he was unabashed. During the failed attempt to steal a printer from the Comanches, Frank had displayed a wide range of skills. His ability to operate independently was matched by his willingness to follow orders. However, the bot had told Blink that he was at his best as a bodyguard. When acting in that capacity, he was practically invincible. But, from inception, models of his line could only be assigned one “protégé.” John was Frank's. The general wanted a demonstration of the bot’s protectionary capabilities and was willing to risk John’s safety to that end.

‘So that's why the escape was so… shit?’ John was dumbfounded. ‘You actually wanted me to be close to death, just so you could see how effective Frank was?’

‘Precisely. I have many enemies, John, in Neraka and elsewhere. I need the best protection.’ His face was guileless. ‘Don't take offence. There are bigger things at stake than your life. The future of Neraka, the future of humans in America, the future of humans across the globe. Do you know how many human beings are left, alive, on Earth?’

‘What the fuck’s that got to do with anything? What makes you so important that I have to dodge zombs for your curiosity?’

‘Calm yourself, John. You'll learn my importance soon enough. Anyway, you're taking this too personally. We have more pressing concerns. Don't you want me to answer your other questions?’

John closed his eyes and silently counted to five. Resentment towards Blink was counter-productive. When, or if, they survived and returned to Neraka, he could address the general’s treachery. Until then, they had a job to do. It would be easier if they put aside their differences. ‘Go on,’ he said dully.

Again, Blink fielded two questions with one response. Dupont was an old war comrade of his, whose incarceration was the result of a minor infraction, his part in a brawl in Babylon. He'd been trawling the bars and brothels, lecturing the sinners about Jesus. A group of youngsters had objected, violently. But, misguided spirituality aside, he was an exceptional aviator. Moreover, after a few strings had been pulled and palms greased, he was available. Theirs was an unsanctioned op, arranged without Blanchflower's signature.

As for their enemy's identity and motive, Blink had a theory. ‘I've heard of this burning cross bunch. Supposed to be more organised, more militant than the bloody cross and the “Children of Christ” movements.’

‘But that wouldn't make them able to control zombs, would it?’ John raised his voice; the printer had reached a particularly noisy stage in its cycle.

‘It doesn't explain the how, but it sort of explains the why.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The disciples of “The Church of the Fiery Resurrection” have some real strange ideas. They believe that zomb-augs are divine. God's attempt to start anew, with armies of faithful, unquestioning followers.’

‘Fuck. That's pretty crazy, even by Churcher standards.’ A thrill of electricity travelled the length of John's limbs. ‘Did they cause the zomb-augpocalypse?’

‘I doubt it. No.’ Blink stood. ‘Every developed nation on earth has been overrun. Most of the less developed ones, too. The Fiery Resurrection started in the Midwest just over a year ago, and according to our intelligence, this is their first appearance in West Virginia.’

‘So who did? Cause the apocalypse, I mean.’

‘Good question. Plenty of theories about, not much proof. I gotta go, anyway. Contact me as soon as you're done.’

‘What do you think, though? What's your theory?’

‘Two groups take the blame, in my opinion. The AI Council, for pushing augmentation in the first place. It was a fucked-up idea, bound to fail. But they didn't infect their own program. When the AugFree movement was born, it had an extremist wing. They didn't want to just opt-out of aug, they wanted to opt everyone else out, too.

'Now, I don't know if the zomb virus was deliberate or not. I don't know if they actually intended this mess, or if it was a sabotage that went wrong. But either way, the extremists are dangerous. The hardliners at Neraka, they share a lot of beliefs with the extreme AugFrees. They could make things worse, rather than better, and that's why I'm important. Blanchflower isn't strong enough to oppose them. But I am.’ Blink moved towards the workshop exit. ‘We'll speak more later, my men need me.’

Once the general had left, John let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

***

Ten mines wouldn't kill many zomb-augs. But ten were better than none. They'd been purposely installed with weak sensors, which only triggered in response to a significant amount of proximate movement. In theory, they wouldn't detonate until at least ten zombs were in the vicinity. Loaded with small shards of shrapnel, the explosives would damage personnel, not structures.

Khan, who now appeared more focussed, was especially impressed by the improvised weaponry. As were his men. Although the soldiers were as outnumbered as the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae, their manner and morale were unaffected. Their general shared his men's outlook. He was confident they would survive until their backup arrived. Casper was more circumspect, however. Not only did he doubt the tiny unit’s chances of defending the factory, but he also feared that any rescue team would be strong enough to break the siege.

The first night at Asquith’s brought John little rest. Every time he stirred, he checked the CCTV feeds, only to find the horde was still immobile. On each occasion, Frank assured John he would rouse him if need be. The bot was in frequent contact with Blink, so he was able to keep his creator apprised of the evac team’s progress. By two AM, John was exhausted. He slipped into a sleep dominated by dreams of a zombified Amber chasing him around Asquith’s.

***

He was woken by his wrist-com. For a few bewildering seconds, he thought he was still living at Asquith’s, yet to venture beyond its walls.

Then Frank entered his quarters, dragging John back into reality. ‘It's started,’ the bot said, almost casually.

‘Shit.’

Chapter 48

John jumped out of bed and looked for his clothes before realising he was still dressed. He pulled on his boots. Grabbed his pistol. ‘Shit. When?’

‘They began to encircle the compound twenty minutes ago. Now their advancing on the walls.’

The time was 04:01. Harsh light filtered between the blinds; the internal floodlights had been activated.

‘Where’s Blink? Casper?’

‘Blink is in the south tower.’ Frank held the door open. ‘May I suggest we head there?’

‘Course.’ John quickened his stride to keep up with the cyborg. ‘Casper?’

‘At his post, north wall. He slept there.’

Momentarily, John was abashed. Everyone else was ready for battle; he was snoozing.

Fuck it. He hadn't volunteered for this ill-starred shambles. Nor had Casper, but at least he was a trained soldier.

‘John?’ Frank, ten paces ahead, looked over his shoulder. ‘We need to hurry.’

John broke into a jog. Time to focus. He was no fighter, but he wasn't useless and had already proved his worth with the 3D printer. He knew Asquith’s better than anyone. Plus, he had the drones. He doubted anyone else, apart from Frank, could operate them with his proficiency.

Blink was alone in the south tower, but he wasn't silent. Via his headset and its mouthpiece, watching the men’s camera feeds on the security suite screen, he commanded his unit. ‘They're still on the wall,’ he said when John and Frank arrived. ‘Slow climbers.’

John nodded. He took one of his drone remotes and activated its assigned machine. He piloted the drone around the perimeter wall, assessing the threat. The sheer weight of undead was chastening. He wished he'd had the time to visit the lavatory. ‘Burning crosses at each corner,’ he noted. ‘What started the fire on the factory roof?'

'Molotov cocktails, we think.'

'Can't we put it out?'

'We could, but they're slinging new ones every couple of minutes.'

'Still no sign of any Churchers?’

'No.'

A gunshot cracked. The first zomb-augs had reached the east wall’s summit. Another bang sounded from the same direction.

‘Good shooting.’ Blink was watching the CCTV footage. He clicked a button on his headset; the communications of his troops were now on loudspeaker. ‘Fire at will. Conserve ammo.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Khan's voice echoed. ‘Fire at will!’

Rifle reports sounded from all directions. As ordered, the gunfire was economical, single shots rather than bursts.

‘These are the best marksmen you'll find in the whole world,’ the general said, seemingly for everyone's benefit. ‘We have enough ammunition to kill every single zomb out there, and the skill to make it count.’

Frank took a drone remote.

‘The quickest are at the east wall,’ John said. ‘Hit them there.’

John was already targetting with his drone, which was closest to the north wall, where fewer vantage points in the closest building meant less defensive cover. His robot began to fire, the bass of its cannon louder than the men’s weapons. It swept six zombs off the lip of the wall with one burst. Frank’s drone joined the fight. It scoured the east wall; a dozen or so undead were reduced to broken bodies.

Between the drones and the snipers stationed behind first-storey windows, the defenders repulsed wave after wave of zombies. But whenever one was sent tumbling to the ground, two or three more were in its place. At roughly the same time, the drones’ guns ran dry. John recalled them, loaded the last of their ammunition and sent them back into the fray.

‘Estimate thirty percent of enemy eliminated,’ Khan reported. He was based at the northern end of the complex.

John exhaled a long breath. Mopped perspiration from his brow. Unleashed another volley. Sent more freaks to hell. By the time the UAVs’ cannon were empty, two thirds of the enemy would be defeated. Another cannonade. But… shit. Although the zombs twitched, they didn't fall. They stayed in place. He fired again; still the zomb-augs didn't drop to the ground.

‘Same problem this side,’ said Frank.

‘What the…’ John gaped. From between the legs of the upright yet dead zombs, live ones emerged. Dozens slithered through to fall to the yard before John and Frank could adjust their aim. The tactic was replicated on all four sides of the installation.

‘They're using each other as decoy-shields,’ Casper said.

‘Aim low, repeat, aim low!’ Blink ordered.

By now, there were at least a hundred zombies on the loose inside the perimeter. Explosions sounded as mines were triggered.

‘John, Frank,’ Blink barked. ‘Use the drones on the hostiles who've broken through. Everyone else, keep firing on the wall.’

John flexed his cramping fingers, then obeyed. He'd had to disable the drones’ auto-targetting setting to prevent them wasting ammo. Hitting the zombs as they darted around was far more difficult than shooting them as they mounted the wall. Even when the shells were accurate, blasting legs and arms free, the fiends kept moving until hit in the torso or head. ‘They're UltraZombs!’ John scowled as another evaded his cannonfire.

Frank was having more success. But for every zomb they slew, another overcame the wall. ‘Ammo’s at ten percent,’ the bot said.

‘Mine’s less,’ John replied. ‘Fuck, these Ultras are slippery.’

Another mine boomed. Then a different explosion – the troops were using grenades.

‘They're climbing the building walls!’ For the first time, Casper’s tone was sharpened by consternation.

‘Scour those walls, John and Frank!’ Blink ordered.

Again, man and machine changed their focus. Cannon rounds shredded flesh and cratered the sides of the factory. But zombs still clung to brickwork when their drone guns clicked, their ammo depleted.

John paused, flustered.

Frank instantly dropped his remote control and grabbed two assault rifles. Leaning out of the hatch, he began to fire.

‘Get firing, John!’ Blink yelled.

‘Estimate seventy percent of hostiles dead,’ Khan said.

Drawing his pistol, John moved to stand behind Frank. The floodlit yard was a scene from hell. There were hundreds of invaders, many hammering at doors and barred windows, some simply milling about. Blink’s men were concentrating on the Ultras scaling the factory walls, so the perimeter was unguarded. The last few zomb-augs were straddling the parapet, easy targets. John aimed and squeezed the trigger. He emptied a clip in seconds. He reloaded, fired, reloaded again. This time he went for climbing zombies, sighting those closest to the first storey windows used by Nerakan defenders.

‘Getting overrun up here!’ Casper’s voice was almost panicked. ‘Coming through the windows!’

Someone screamed. The sound was quickly curtailed.

Casper said, ‘We are breached, north wall!’

Without waiting for an order, Frank dropped one of his guns, strapped the other to his back and pulled himself through the window. He climbed the south tower, disappearing from John’s view. Then he re-appeared, suddenly, on the factory roof. As soon as he landed, he darted northwards, hurdling small obstacles, clambering over larger ones. Like a giant monkey/cheetah hybrid. At one point, just as he was passing the fire in the centre of the roof, a Molotov landed just a couple of metres away. The bot swerved. Singed, not immolated, he continued.

John, meanwhile, grabbed Frank’s discarded longarm and continued to snipe. While reloading he glanced at the roof: Frank had reached its northernmost edge. He dropped out of sight. Five seconds later there was a prolonged barrage of automatic fire. A pause. Another heavy salvo.

‘North secured,’ Frank said as if reporting the weather.

‘Shit!’ John’s attention had wandered. Zombs were climbing the tower. ‘We got some on the tower. I'm low on ammo!’

‘On it,’ Frank replied.

John pointed his gun downwards and shot the highest Ultra. He blasted at another and missed. Something brushed his shoulder, and he spun on his heel, but it was just Blink.

The Army veteran used his pistol to devastating effect, headshotting the five zombs mid-ascent.

Still, though, more came. Relentless, ugly, crawling, spiteful demons. John’s borrowed rifle spent its ammo, as did the general’s handgun. The former retrieved his pistol; Blink signed for him to pass it over. When it’d fired its last round, a single zomb was on the tower wall. Beneath were the corpses of all its fallen brethren. With one shoulder wounded by a misplaced shot, it continued to climb.

‘Fuck,’ said Blink. ‘We're dry, south tower. We need fire!’

‘We're breached, west side!’ someone hollered. ‘They're using their dead as a fucking ramp. Oh shit, arrghhh —’

The beast rose higher. It was two metres from the hatch.

Blink took the dropped rifle and used its stock as a spear, shattering the zomb’s teeth, mashing its lips, breaking its fingers.

It refused to quit.

‘Frank!’ John yelled. ‘Where the fuck are you?’

There was no reply.

‘Close the window!’ Blink ordered.

John tried, but the mechanism jammed.

The UltraZomb seized the window ledge.

Blink reversed the rifle in his hands and brought its butt down, like a hammer, on the zombie’s hand. Small bones crunched.

It ignored the blow and grabbed the ledge with its other hand. And then, cat-like, it propelled itself into the tower.

As John recoiled he stumbled backwards. He felt a projectile pass, heard the whistle. Before he went down, his last glimpse of outside revealed Frank on the roof, aiming at the tower window. The ammunition box, over which John had tripped, saved his life. For as the Ultra pounced, its would-be prey hit the floor, banging his head. Dazed, he watched the creature collide with the security computers.

Outside, frag grenades boomed; machine guns chattered.

The zomb was now closer to Blink. It batted his rifle aside as if it were a toy. Then it was upon him, jaws opening and closing, fingers clawing.

The general was robust for his years. He gripped the fiend under its chin and held its maw at bay. But his own throat was being squeezed. His strength was fading. The thing’s jagged teeth were within centimetres of his nose.

Shaking himself, John ignored the pain in his head and got to his feet. He dived at the zomb-aug just as Blink’s arm buckled. John and the fiend tumbled across the floor and crashed into the wall. Now he was winded. And powerless to resist as a bony hand grabbed him by the hair and turned him onto his back.

Sheer terror sharpened his senses. Time slowed. He heard Blink coughing and spluttering, and the rustle of his clothes as he tried to get up. The stench of decay was overpowering. Blood like iron in his mouth. Floor hard and cold. And the UltraZomb – dark, dishevelled, shark-eyed – loomed above. Stooping to slaughter its quarry, its mouth opened wide, impossibly so, as though it were a boa constrictor.

Suddenly, there was a deafening bang. The zomb’s forehead erupted. Blood spurted from a cavity, and the creature slumped across John. For a few heartbeats he was paralysed, but not by the weight of his attacker.

‘Are you alright, John?’ asked Frank.

‘Yeah.’ Coming to his senses, he shifted the zombie away and struggled into a sitting position. ‘Blink, you good?’ he asked.

‘No,’ the man croaked. ‘But I'm alive. You saved my life, John.’

‘And Frank saved mine.’

Abruptly, the general got to his feet. He staggered, leaned against a CCTV monitor and pushed himself towards the view hatch. Suddenly he seemed older, less steely. ‘They've stopped coming. The walls are clear. There are zombs in the yard, though.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Khan? Khan, do you read me?’

‘Ah, General Blink, sir?’ a voice came through the loudspeaker. ‘Delfonso here.’

‘Sergeant? Report.’

‘Khan’s a little groggy, sir. He was knocked out cold when we were overwhelmed at the west wall. But we fought back. I think the building's clear now.’

Measured shots rang out, single rounds. ‘We’re taking care of the remaining threat. Just a few freaks, here and there.’

Two more frags went off. Rifles discharged, one at a time, like the last few firecrackers at a party.

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Blink was still facing the carnage below. ‘You did well, all of you.’ He looked at John and Frank. ‘You two, as well. You saved my life, and I won't forget it.’

John shrugged. ‘I never wanted to be here.’

‘I know. You can stay up here, if you like, and someone will call out when a full sweep has been done. Rest. I'm going to see my men.’

‘There are still live enemies out there,’ Frank warned.

‘Then you'd better give me that rifle.’

Frank did as bidden.

Blink gave them a nod and went downstairs.

‘What about Casper?’ John asked. ‘Did he make it?’

‘I don't know,’ said Frank.

A leaden weight settled in John’s chest.

‘I made it. Just.’ Even via radio, the pain was audible in the older man’s voice. ‘Don't worry. Just a few bruises.’

Beaming, John told his friend to sit tight and wait for medical attention. He exhaled at length and watched Blink cross the yard. A couple of lethargic zombs wandered in the general's direction. He shot one; a sniper got the other. Tired of looking at dead zombs, John looked further afield, beyond the walls of Asquith Robotics. He leaned on the windowsill. For a moment, he let his thoughts slide and enjoyed the fresh air on his face. A new day was dawning to the east. The red and orange hues were matched by those of the closest crosses, which were still burning just outside the factory grounds.

John stood up straight, no longer fatigued. Crosses plural. Why could he see two, now, when before there had been only one on each side? Not two. Three, in fact. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. ‘Three crosses,’ he said.

‘Three?’ Frank was examining the UltraZomb’s carcass.

‘I can see three lit crosses.’

Frank sprung to his feet and joined John at the hatch. He climbed out and scurried up the tower. A moment later he returned. ‘Still just one cross per side to the west, north and south, but they've been extinguished.’

John pointed. ‘Another one! That's four!’

‘No, that's just a fire, something was probably hit by a falling bullet.’ Frank pointed. ‘There's number four.’

A fresh fire had been ignited, and it soon had the same shape as the others.

‘Something tells me we've only just begun,’ John said.

Chapter 49

Apart from General Blink, a dazed Captain Khan, and Sergeant Delfonso, there were four remaining soldiers. Casper, as formidable as any of them, made a fifth, but he was injured, having fallen down a flight of stairs whilst retreating from two Ultras. The warriors were battered, cut, bereaved yet unbowed. Their eyes were still cold, their body language resolute. And Frank was a platoon unto himself, of course. Even so, they were no match for the second horde that'd gathered to the east. Six crosses blazed, now, on that side of the factory. Placed in a hexagonal formation, they served as a visual pen for the host of zomb-augs.

‘How long till evac?’ John had asked the same question just ten minutes ago; it was becoming something of a mantra.

Blink showed no irritation. ‘Four hours.’

Packed into the south tower, the fatigued troops and civilians looked at each other as if hoping for inspiration or consolation.

‘Perhaps we can negotiate?’ shaven-head woman – Private Silverman – said.

‘Negotiate with who?’ Private Hummel, the sinewy man, scoffed. ‘You can't negotiate with fucking zombies, man!’

The two blond men, Lance and Arthur Whitstable, nodded in unison. ‘Can't talk to those freaks, can we?’ one said.

‘I meant the Church motherfuckers, you morons. Dupont’s buddies.’ Silverman turned to the general. ‘General, sir. What do you think?’

‘If we could find any of these Churcher people, it'd be worth a shot.’ Blink stood, hands on hips. ‘But… we can't. Evac will be here soon, so we sit tight.’

‘All we can see is zomb-augs,’ Delfonso confirmed. ‘And we definitely can't speak to them.’

‘Maybe we can, though,’ John said, almost to himself. An idea was forming. ‘The zombs, maybe we can communicate with them.’

Lance smirked. ‘Good luck with that.’

John ignored him and peered out of the window. The six crucifixes continued to blaze, as did the accidental fire nearby. This separate conflagration wasn't as bright as the others, but, as he'd suspected, it'd attracted its own share of undead attention. A group of zomb-augs, approximately one hundred strong, were gathered around the burning barrel. ‘Look. The fires, they… arrange the zombs. Direct them. Attract them like beacons.’

Blink and Casper joined him at the view hatch.

‘Bullshit.’ Silverman was still sat down. ‘I've seen zombs near fire tons of times. They ain't never been “attracted” to it.’

‘Quiet, Private,’ Delfonso spat. He looked over Casper’s shoulder. ‘Everyone knows zombs are programmed from miles away, though.’

‘Maybe their “controller” has lost contact with them. And one of the Churchers has found a way to override their programming.’ John was almost talking to himself. ‘Using fire. Otherwise, why are the Churchers planting these crosses?’

‘Good point,’ said Blink. ‘And obviously, the fire is significant. If not, they wouldn't bother putting some out and lighting others.’

‘Right,’ John began. ‘Here's what we do.’

***

Scrap had been running low before John’s return; now it was completely spent. One commodity he'd had in abundance, however, was gasoline. Presumably, the factory had taken a bulk delivery prior to the apocalypse. He'd considered using it to repel the zombs, in the form of Molotov cocktails or fire rings, but he feared he might set a fire too fierce to fight. Today, he was glad of his caution.

The second part of his plan was the reverse of the first. They had to sever communications between the zombie horde and Pro-Churchers by dousing the existing crucifix fires. Water wasn't a viable method. Even if they had hoses – which they didn't – the factory’s H²O supply was insufficient to quench all six crosses. In theory, though, he had a more effective, more economical means of smothering the Churchers’ beacons. Five years ago, Asquith Robotics won a federal contract to produce “fire-bots.” Remote-controlled, they provided a safer means of combatting home and business fires. They employed powerful subwoofers instead of water, powder or gas. Transmitting soundwaves at a 40Hz frequency, with sufficient power, they could snuff-out a blaze in a fraction of the time required by traditional methods.

Meanwhile, they would use Molotov cocktails, fired by catapult, to create new guideposts. Their flares would lead the enemy host into the nearby roof-holed warehouse. Which would be booby-trapped with enough high explosives to blow them all to hell.

Leaning on the south tower’s view hatch sill, Blink sighed. ‘Three goals. Putting out the fires. Making new ones. Laying the C4.’ He looked John in the eye. ‘Each one has, what, a thirty percent chance of success? At best.’

‘I would be planting the C4,’ said Frank. ‘I will not fail, I assure you.’

‘I'll pilot the drones.’ John patted one of the remotes. ‘Casper can fire the cocktails.’

‘No, I have someone with a better shot.’

‘He's better than Casper?’

‘She is the best sniper I've ever worked with. Private Silverman. She’s never used a slingshot, but she'll adapt. Won't you need to operate both drones? You'll need a second pilot.’

John grinned. He was pretending a confidence he didn't feel, but what other option did they have? ‘I have someone in mind.’

***

While John fitted his drones with the fire-woofers, he kept an eye on his bot’s mobile camera feed. The troops had been issued with their own ordnance. They had only half a kilogram each, but the remote detonators they'd brought were more valuable. When they were triggered, they would set off the rest of the plastic explosives laid by Frank at strategic points within the building.

The bot was as good as his word. Half an hour after leaving, he returned. The satchel on his back was empty; the trap was set.

‘You've not put any C4 too close to the area underneath the roof hole, have you?’ John asked.

‘No. Closest is ten metres away.’

‘Good work.’ John nodded at the workshop door. ‘Come on, time to meet an old friend.’

If Frank were confused, he didn't show it. ‘Old friend? Can you call it that?’

‘He had a name, and he was the only thing I spoke to for a year.’

On their way to the storeroom, human and machine glanced out at the courtyard. Amidst the wreckage of limbs, torsos and debris, the soldiers worked to clear bodies. Slowly, they dismantled the ungodly ramp of slain undead. Their labours would, with a large slice of luck, prove unnecessary. However, even if the plan succeeded, there was no guarantee that all the zombs would be killed by the explosion in the neighbouring building. No guarantee the improvised beacons would work. No guarantee the fire-woofers would —

‘John.’ Frank put an arm around his maker’s shoulders.

John had stopped at one of the windows and was staring at the morass of death. Movement in the periphery of his vision caught his eye: Silverman was in the tower, practising with her new weapon. She slung plastic, sand-weighted bottles over the wall, one after the other, not pausing, not hurrying.

‘Come on, John. We just need to carry on for now. We're waking up your “old friend,” remember.’ With a firm hand, Frank jockeyed John along the corridor. ‘We'll just do things one at a time.’

‘Yes.’ John blinked. ‘One at a time.’

‘And you know, if this plan fails, I'll make sure you survive.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Here we are. The storeroom. John. John?’

‘Yeah, I know. I'm fine. Just… zoned out a bit. You know what?’ He opened the store’s door.

‘What?’

‘I really wish Winston was better at flying the drones.’

‘You'll both be fine,’ Frank promised, his tone almost blithe.

***

‘They're moving.’ Brow furrowed, Blink watched from the tower. ‘Men, to your posts! We will be leaving in one piece, all of us. Just 100 minutes till evac.’ Full of energy and authority, he turned to John. ‘The drones?’

John and Winston responded. With a controller each, they flew the robots out of the compound and into position. According to the video feed, the zombs were oblivious to the hovering machines overhead. When the fire-woofers were employed, they were effective. Each cross was extinguished in turn. Winston showed no signs of rustiness; in fact, his sabbatical seemed to have improved his performance. With her catapult, Private Silverman unleashed her firebombs with consummate ease, as if she'd trained with the ancient tool for months. John watched her on Casper’s video stream. The two sharpshooters were atop the south tower, the highest vantage point in the compound.

‘It's working!’ John said, leaning further through the view hatch. ‘The crosses are being put out so quickly. It's all… coming together.’

‘Don't get too excited,’ said Casper, via intercom. ‘There's one last hurdle, remember.’

When hatching his plan, John hadn't foreseen one worrying snag. Fortunately, Frank, Blink and Casper had pointed out that Gunner Silverman’s final target would be inside the C4-riddled warehouse. If they didn't ignite a beacon within its walls, the zomb-augs would probably remain outside. They would be all but safe from the bomb. Despite Silverman’s prowess, launching a Molotov cocktail through the hole in the building’s roof would be a fiendish challenge. And, even if she were successful, her shot might detonate the plastic explosives upon landing.

To John, the solution was obvious. He aimed to steer one of the drones into the warehouse and deliver a cocktail inside. Its flames would need to be clearly-visible from outside. Also, it had to be laid as close to the rear of the building as possible, in order to encourage the maximum number of zombs into the blast area. At first, he'd considered giving Frank the means to light a fire before sending him to plant the explosives. That idea was abandoned for fear that, untended, the conflagration might spread and enkindle the C4.

Perhaps for the final time, John retrieved a drone remote.

'They're following the firebombs!' Blink enthused. 'Men, stay frosty,' he said more soberly. ‘We need to be ready.’

John recalled the UAV. He removed the woofer and replaced it with a bucket. Into the container he placed a half-full bottle of kerosene, from which a metre-long fuse dangled, like a floppy drinking straw. This he stoppered with a rag. As he flicked Casper’s vintage lighter, John realised the tower’s other occupants – Blink and Frank – were watching him rather than the screen displaying the soldiers’ cam-streams. The former engineer smiled nervously. Then he lit the fuse.

Although he knew the spark would take five minutes to reach the accelerant, he was compelled to rush. Mopping sweat from his brow, he grabbed the control and sent the drone on its way. Over the perimeter wall and towards the warehouse. Hovering above the gap in its roof. Descending, steadily.

A shot rang out, the distinctive crack of a long-range weapon.

‘Shooter!’ yelled Blink.

Briefly, John stared at the remote control’s now-blank screen. He pressed a couple of buttons but to no avail.

Soldiers were calling to each other; none knew the mystery rifleman’s location.

John looked out of the hatch towards the factory full of bombs. Three metres above, the drone floated, a wisp of smoke leaking from one side. It didn't respond to the controller. John cursed and shook the device dumbly.

‘The zombs are outside the warehouse now,’ Casper reported.

John studied his friend’s and Silverman’s video outputs, but they were using their rifle scopes as telescopes.

‘One of the crosses has been relit!’ Silverman said.

A second rifle shot sounded. The drone bucked then dropped from the sky.

‘UAV is down, repeat, UAV is down,’ Casper reported.

‘Has it dropped inside the warehouse?’ Blink demanded.

‘Negative. It's on the roof.’

Chapter 50

Frank grabbed the undamaged drone’s control set and passed it to John.

The latter snapped into action, sending the unit to extinguish the new cross-beacon. ‘We need that bucket in the warehouse in ninety seconds!’ he stated.

‘I'll go.’ Frank was already pulling himself through the hatch.

‘No, you'll get sniped to shreds,’ said John, shaking his head. 'They weren't expecting you when you went to plant the C4. They will be now.'

‘We've got zombs heading towards the new beacon,’ Silverman warned. ‘Shitloads, in fact.’

Shoulders slumped, Blink shook his head. ‘Unit, prepare for invasion. I want every shot to count. We have seventy minutes till exfil.’

‘No! We can still make this work,’ John insisted without looking away from his drone’s vid-feed. He juggled its controller with the sonic fire-extinguisher’s. Ten seconds later the cross was no longer ablaze. ‘Casper, Silverman, open fire on the roof! Aim near the UAV, but just hit the roof instead. With everything you got!’

Overhead, twin barrages of automatic fire began.

‘No good!’ Casper complained. ‘It'll take too long.’

‘Just keep firing!’ Desperation strangled John’s voice. ‘Keep! Firing!’

‘Forget it, John!’ Blink ordered. ‘Make yourself useful in some other —’

‘It's given way!’ Silverman exclaimed. ‘The package is delivered.’

For a few agonising moments, John, Blink and Frank waited, praying the firebomb didn't bounce and set off a C4 stick.

A trickle of smoke showed above the roof hole.

‘The enemy have spotted the new firebomb.’ Casper almost sounded excited. ‘They're entering the building.’

‘Another cross has been relit,’ Silverman advised. ‘Make that two!’

‘Fuck!’ Again John took control of the fire-fighting drone. Again he used it to extinguish the crosses. Again the machine took fire from the hidden sniper. Somehow, it survived.

‘Shooter spotted.’ Casper was as cool as ever.

Measured shots sounded from the tower roof.

‘Think I got him,’ Silverman said. ‘Confirmed, shooter is neutralised.’

Blink was beaming. ‘Nice work, Gunner.’

‘Warehouse is filling up nicely now,’ Casper drawled.

‘We want as many as possible in there before we detonate.’ Blink peered out of the view hatch. ‘Casper, Silverman, keep an eye on those crosses.’

‘Way ahead of you,’ the former said. ‘Wait… there's a zomb headed for a cross… it's one of the faster ones, the Ultras…’

‘Not today, freak.’ Silverman’s insult was punctuated by a rifle shot. ‘Zomb is down.’

‘The zombs are lighting the crosses themselves?’ John wondered aloud. ‘They can't… it's not possible. Casper, the shooter, was he an UltraZomb?’

‘Don't think so. Building nearly full now. They're jostling to get in.’

‘Unit?’ Blink, hands on hips, addressed the screen. ‘Detonators ready.’

Every soldier repeated the two words.

‘Detonate, people.’

Although the explosion wasn't as loud as John expected, he felt the floor beneath him shake.

‘Success,’ Casper said. ‘Enemy horde is all but destroyed.’

Every person at Asquith’s cheered, and no one was louder than John.

Chapter 51

Frank estimated that 90% of the horde was eliminated by the blast. The remainder assaulted the compound and were repulsed with relative ease. Needless to say, the troops were delighted when the rescue team radioed to inform that their arrival would be five minutes earlier than anticipated. The team were desperate to return to Neraka, to escape the stench of dead zombs, to put solid earth between them and the fiends who'd stolen their world.

John in particular was keen to go home, though he was glad, in a way, that he'd accompanied Blink's crew. His fear of the big city, of Silas's ghost, was now conquered. Still, he missed Amber. The others, too, but Amber most of all. As he gazed westwards from the tower, waiting for the tell-tale signs of their transportation, he wondered if she'd lamented his departure to the same extent. Of course, since arriving in New Jersey, John had been too occupied for maudlin. However, as was the case last time he ventured above ground, he'd ached at the thought of dying without seeing her again.

He, Frank and Casper were alone in the tower. The general had left to “debrief” his men and organise readying the printer for extrication. For the first time in twenty-four hours, there was silence, and John relished it. The breeze was gentle on his face. The morning sun warmed his arms. Somewhere, a large bird squawked, one of many which had descended upon the courtyard to feast on the carrion. 'How long left?' said John.

'Five minutes less than last time you asked,' Casper said. 'Don't get too excited. We're about to be arrested. Not rescued.'

'What do you mean?'

'Exactly what I said.'

'Elaborate, then.'

'Not remember our convo in the chopper?'

John pursed his lips. 'Yeah, Blink's little mission is off the books. So what?'

'So....' Arms folded, Casper was slouched against the security terminal. 'We're screwed.' He looked towards Frank.

The bot nodded. 'There's a good chance Blink's m'aidez will have triggered alarms. Questions will be asked that may not have been had we returned without assistance.’

‘But… we won't be in trouble, surely? I mean, none of us wanted to come on this pleasure trip, did we?’

‘It'd be unfair,’ Casper conceded. ‘But that's life. Unfair.’

‘There’s a seventy-two percent probability that we'll be detained.’ Frank tipped his head to one side, mimicking a human’s weighing-something-up expression. ‘A forty-nine percent chance of being indicted. And conviction? Thirty-three percent.’

‘Conviction for what?’

‘Who knows?’ Casper began to look past John, to the west. ‘Worst case, treason. Best case, sedition. But before you shit your breeches remember this. Blink is a smart operator. Don't think he'd allow himself to be backed into a tight spot.’

‘So we might be okay?’

‘Ain't saying we'll be okay. But Blink probably will.’

Dry-mouthed, John spluttered. Momentarily, he wanted to argue, but to what end? There was no point complaining to Frank and Casper. He followed the latter’s gaze: a cloud of dust was visible, several kilometres away, on the horizon. Nausea fermented in John’s gut. In his face, neck, arms and shoulders, though, there was a tingling. A frisson of pure fury. That bastard Blink had used the fear of capital punishment to manipulate John into going to New Jersey. And now, he was in danger of imprisonment. Or worse. ‘I'm going to find Blink,’ he croaked.

‘Watch yourself,’ said Casper.

Frank fell in behind his master. Together they went down the tower’s stairwell.

In the body-strewn yard, General Blink had just finished talking to his squad and was standing in silence, head bowed. The servicemen adopted a similar bearing as they headed towards the main entrance. In their absence, crows became bolder, swooping to peck at zomb-aug flesh. John stared at the general’s back for a moment. Breathe in, hold for five seconds. Breathe out. He was livid and terrified, but he needed to remain calm. ‘Blink.’

Gradually, the older man turned, his eyes lingering on the hungry birds. He appeared suddenly aged. ‘John.’

‘Listen —’

‘Before you begin, I want to thank you. And Frank.’ He nodded at the bot, who was at John’s side. ‘I'll be speaking to Casper, too. He was —’

‘Sure, but —’

‘Exceptional. You all were. I'll be petitioning the president to officially recognise your bravery —’

‘General! Shut up for a minute. Please.’ Fists clenched, John took a few steps towards Blink. ‘There won't be any petition. Or award. Because we're in deep shit, aren't we?’

‘No, we're not. No. I'll explain everything, take full responsibility. We'll be…’

‘Fucked. We'll be fucked, and you know it.’

Blink stiffened and regained some of his authority. ‘I know no such thing. But I do know things you don't, John.’

‘You threatened me with treason, for fucksake! Now, that's exactly what I'll be charged with. What we'll all be charged with.’

‘I assure you we won't.’

John laughed. ‘You're crazy. You've risked everyone’s lives so you could make a move on the presidency. That's why you want the printer, isn't it? You're a power-hungry general, Blink, an old cliché.’

‘Power-hungry?’ Blink snorted. ‘I'm not a patch on Blanchflower or Fitzwilliam, I promise you.’

‘Whatever. I don't care. None of us will be around long enough to care.’

‘Wait and see, my friend.’

When the general smiled and turned to walk away, the younger man was incensed. Refraining from chasing and accosting Blink took every shred of restraint John could muster. Left alone with Frank, he was suddenly exhausted. His arm began to throb. The sun was still too low to illuminate the courtyard; John shivered.

‘Come on,’ Frank urged. ‘Let's go get Casper. The rescue team will be here soon.’

They met the old warrior on the tower stairs. For the want of anywhere better to wait, all three went to John’s old room. He lay on his bed, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ache in his bicep. There was no time to sleep, and he doubted rest would be forthcoming anyway.

Casper and Frank were talking about the battle. John almost offered his opinion twice, but his mouth felt gummed-up. Early stages of PTSD, perhaps. Shell-shock. Reminded of his childish obsession with twentieth-century wars, he nearly snorted. He would've been a liability in a uniform, shot as soon as he emerged from a trench, or before he'd even detached his parachute. Neither use nor ornament – as he'd once heard his great-grandfather say about the government of the day.

‘John?’ Casper said forcefully, as if he'd been repeating himself. ‘What do you think?’

‘About what?’ he answered flatly. He hadn't been listening.

‘Them UltraZombs. Seems they were controlling their own kind. With the fires.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘We don't know how they learnt to do it —’

Frank interjected, ‘We don't know for certain that that's what happened, Casper —’

‘Whatever. But whether it's true or it ain't, it don't explain Dupont.’

‘Dupont?’

‘Yeah. The pilot. We sorta assumed the burning cross lot persuaded him to defect. But we saw no Churchers.’

‘I don't know.’ Nor did John care at that moment.

‘So,’ Casper persisted. If he were worried about their probable imminent arrest, he didn't let on. ‘What happened to Dupont?’

‘I don't know.’

‘Okay. What's your thoughts?’

John inhaled slowly through his nostrils and turned over to face the wall. Could he hear vehicles in the distance? The convoy should've arrived by now; at least fifteen minutes had elapsed since he saw their dust.

‘John?’

‘Let's talk about this later,’ Frank suggested. ‘When everyone’s had some sleep.’

In reply, Casper hissed something unintelligible.

‘I don't think the Churchers were involved.’ John didn't want to be treated like a child. ‘At all. I think the Ultras have learnt, somehow, that fire attracts their kind. Perhaps they've seen the burning crosses, seen other zombs flocking to them.’

‘What about the sniper?’

‘Good point.'

'Do you think they could fire a weapon like that?'

Casper made a face. 'Doubt it. Remember that cabin in the woods? They had guns then. But they just fired them in the air or tried to use them as clubs.'

'I concur,' Frank said. 'Observing the UltraZombs, I've noticed they have an animalistic cunning. Highly-honed instincts, if you like, which make them exceptional predators. Problem-solving abilities shared only with humans, some apes, dolphins. But operating a gun is another thing entirely.’

‘What about removing the chopper’s rotors?’

‘Maybe. I would have to conduct more observation.’

'Okay.' John sat up in bed. He could hear activity from elsewhere in the factory. The main gates were opening; an uncommonly heavy vehicle was approaching. 'But what about learning to use the burning crosses to organise attacks?'

Distracted by other inputs, Frank took a moment to answer. 'Apologies, John, the security suite is demanding my attention. The extraction team has arrived. Regarding your question, yes, I believe the UltraZombs could orchestrate mass activity.'

Something occurred to John. 'Why bother with the crosses and fires, though? Out in the open, the UltraZombs run with the rest of the horde, sometimes. Surely they can just... lead them? Why this elaborate system?'

'Maybe they don't lead them,' Casper said, standing. 'Out in the open. Maybe they just go with the flow, usually. And if they have a particular job to do, they go it alone. Like the ones that chased you through the forest.'

'Unless it's a job that needs a lot of manpower, if you'll forgive the expression.' Frank opened the door. 'Then they use the fires. Or perhaps Churchers were there, and we simply didn't see them. In any case, we need to leave.'

'See what's going down.' Casper followed the bot out of the room.

Suddenly energised, John stood and looked around his quarters. Probably for the last time, because if the zombies didn't kill him, Blanchflower might. The prospect didn't daunt him anymore, though. In fact, perversely, he was looking forward to defending himself. He hurried to keep up with the others, eager to continue the debate, even though he knew their conclusions would be ignored if they ended up on death row, in jail or banished from Neraka. 'We've still not worked out who fired the rifle.’

‘Dupont is key, ’ Casper stated. ‘The rescue team will probably look for him. Let's see what they find.’

***

Casper was proven right. Neither he, John, nor Frank caught a glimpse of the evac unit operatives. As soon as their officers had spoken to Blink, they began a search for the missing helicopter pilot. Their trio of vehicles remained at Asquith’s, however, and were parked in the courtyard. They weren't of much interest to John, but his two companions were suitably impressed.

‘They brought a fucking tank,’ Casper remarked. ‘Good piece of kit, too. Hundred twenty millimetre cannon. Rocket launcher. Fifty cal machine gun. All the latest mods and cons, no doubt. Could really do damage with this. Nice APCs, too. What are they, ten, twelve berth? Each?’

‘I would say so,’ Frank agreed, appraising the armoured personnel carriers.

The sun was getting strong now. The air was still and sultry. Blink’s men were nowhere to be seen. Evidently, they were assisting with the hunt for Dupont.

‘Reckon you could drive one of these, Frank?’ John slapped the tank’s massive main gun.

‘Probably, yes.’

‘Noticed the rescuers have the same attitude as Blink’s men?’ Casper asked.

‘As in, leaving their vehicles without a guard?’ John looked over his shoulder at the factory’s entrance.

‘Hmm. They're a trusting bunch. Ain't they?’

‘Too trusting. Frank, have a look at the hatch, or door, or whatever you call it.’

‘Certainly.’ The bot leapt onto the tank’s hull, then its turret.

‘Halt!’ a voice called from above.

Heart sinking, John looked up at the south tower.

A gunman was aiming a machine gun at Frank.

‘Get off the vehicle, sir,’ the balaclava-faced man called. ‘All of you, away from the vehicles.’

‘Fuck,’ said Casper. ‘May as well go back inside.’

***

The combined force of Blink’s squad and the extraction team returned midway through the afternoon. John’s disappointment at being stopped from stealing the tank was compounded when Blink reported that Dupont was still MIA. The answers he'd anticipated might’ve helped explain the rise of the zomb-augs, but he was as far away from the truth as he'd always been.

According to CCTV, the general was in John's private quarters with Colonel Abraham, so John and his two friends chose to remain in the workshop until summoned. They were still to meet the colonel who commanded the extraction team. Indeed, they'd only seen one of his troops: the machine gun-toting guard stationed in the south tower. Blink’s unit had adopted the old factory’s staff room as their mess hall.

‘What are we waiting for?’ John  rocked back on his computer chair. ‘They're supposed to be an extraction team. They've not done much extracting, have they?’

Casper, lay on an empty pallet, huffed. ‘Fuck knows. Blink’s probably having his ass handed to him in private. Preparing him for Blanchflower. Shame you ain't got audio on your footage.’

Another glance at the stream for John’s room revealed the same image. Blink was sat down, facing the camera, his expression grave. The colonel, a slim, grey-haired man, was only visible from the rear. ‘What are they talking about?’

This time Casper said nothing.

‘I could go and spy on them, if you like,’ Frank offered. ‘I could hear them from a corridor away.’

‘Why didn't you say? That's a great idea! Wait, perhaps —’

The door clicked ajar, and all three of the workshop’s inhabitants stiffened. After a moment a sheepish Delfonso poked his head through the doorway. ‘We're leaving.’

Before they could ask any questions, the sergeant disappeared. His steps on the corridor floor were brisk.

Getting to his feet, John glanced at the CCTV monitor. His former quarters were deserted, as was the rest of the building and its grounds. One armed soldier, his face covered like the sentry from earlier, was posted by the tank. It appeared everyone else was already in the vehicles. John led his comrades out of the workshop, then into the open air. Following the guard’s gesture, they boarded the APC whose rear door was open. Inside were Blink’s men, apart from the general himself and his temporary second-in-command, Sergeant Delfonso.

The soldiers greeted the newcomers with blank stares. The printer, safely-stowed in the tank, was theirs, so the mission was a success. It’d taken its toll, both in terms of casualties, morale and potential trouble with the law. The dead and missing would be replaced, of course, whilst the living would be treated for their ailments. Whether or not they would be prosecuted was unclear, according to Casper. The “only following orders” excuse would be tenuous, given the circumstances. It’d been an unauthorised operation. They were all there by choice.

The civilians had barely taken their seats when the transport began to move. Briefly John considered escaping, making some excuse to return to his former home. He and Frank could fortify the place anew. When they were safe, he would communicate with Amber and the others, explain his decision and ask them to leave Neraka. The underground city was a lost cause, especially with the likes of Blink willing to risk civil war to further their own ends.

Passing through the entry gates, John realised he'd not been asked to reactivate security. He watched through the thick rear glass as the factory shrunk into the distance. Suddenly there was a popping noise followed by a whistle; missiles had been fired by the tank. Within a second they hit Asquith’s. Another couple of heartbeats later, two more rockets were unleashed. Fire raged in the compound. Black smoke rose in a wide column. Then the APC turned a corner, obscuring John’s view.

Chapter 52

The journey was long and tedious, the ride uncomfortable. The evacuees discussed their likely fate in hushed tones. The troops were, they claimed, in the dark about Blink’s conversation with Colonel Abraham. Their leader had assured them they'd be well-remunerated for their service, and he'd given assurances that reprisals would be faced by him alone. It seemed, however, their respect for the general didn't extend to blind faith. They were more afraid now than they'd been at any point during the siege of Asquith’s Robotics.

‘You knew this would be the case, though,’ John contended. He winced as the APC hit a pothole, jolting his arm. 'You knew Blink had gone rogue. So why sign up?'

'He said we'd be fine.' Silverman's arms were folded. 'Straight in, straight out. Put it down to a training exercise.'

Hummels nodded. 'No risk. And you know what, I still trust him. I think he'll take one for the team. Tell the President or whoever that he ordered us.'

John and Casper shared a dubious look.

'You don't know the general!' Lance Whitstable argued. 'He always had our back. There was this one time, when we were in this village —'

'Woah,' his brother said. 'TMI, bro.'

'Let's just say, he always protected us,' Silverman said.

'How?' John asked.

'War isn't always clear-cut. Some situations are... complex. You're a civvy, you won't understand.'

'So he's covered for you when you've shot the wrong guy or blown up the wrong house, basically.' John's expression betrayed his disdain.

'I understand,' Casper said. 'I was one of you, once. And you're right. Sometimes shit gets real. And the regs don't cover it. Sometimes you get away with it. Especially if you got a big cheese on your side. Like Blink.'

By now, everyone was listening. The older man's voice was gritty but earnest; he had a sagacious air that seemed to come naturally.

'But even then,' Casper continued, 'sometimes you get unlucky. Just as important as having powerful friends is not having powerful enemies. This time, Blink might've picked the wrong battle.'

'You think Blanchflower will screw him over?' Hummels asked.

'I think she'll realise he's about to make a power-grab. Do something about it.'

'Power-grab?' Silverman laughed. 'Blink's military through and through, man. All he's interested in is soldiering. Not politics.'

'Not the impression we get,' Casper insisted. 'But we ain't biased. Sometimes gotta take a step back to see what you're looking at.'

Arthur Whitstable sat forwards. ‘You've all got it wrong. Yeah, they'll try and fuck Blink over. But that's cool. Because the general’s a fucking genius. He'll have the last laugh, I bet.’

***

For an hour or so, the soldiers regaled their companions with tales of Blink’s exploits. The general had risen through the ranks of the US Army during the Korean Wars. At one point he led a crack unit of commandos behind enemy lines. The strike team's operations were instrumental to the Allies’ eventual victory. A lot of the stories could be dismissed as conjecture. However, the escape he masterminded from a POW camp in Kijông-dong, during which he saved the lives of over one hundred prisoners, was the stuff of legend amongst military types. Casper admitted that the man’s reputation was deserved, but he also observed that Blink was known as a “lucky general.” Everyone’s luck ran out sometime.

The remainder of their journey was spent in silence. Twice they stopped to change drivers and answer calls of nature. The only window faced rearwards, so every time they began to travel at a decline, John feared they'd reached the entrance to Neraka and were descending to the lift. Casper showed no emotion. Nor did the troops. They were exhausted and desperate to get home, even if that meant confinement.

Night fell. With it came rain; it was torrential for an hour, rattling the APC's armour. Afterwards, it continued as a pitter-patter against the glass. To his surprise, John felt himself lulled into a doze, his eyes opening only when the vehicle rolled over an obstruction.

A flash of lightning illuminated the landscape at one point – they were driving through a forest. John became vigilant, for the trees resembled the type found above Neraka. His stomach churned, and he realised he'd not eaten for hours. Not that he felt hungry. In his mind, excitement at the prospect of seeing Amber vied with dread of punishment for his alliance with Blink. He wanted to express his emotions but knew his fellow travellers could say nothing to salve his anxiety. Half an hour passed; still they travelled beneath a canopy of wood and leaves.

‘Don't worry, John,’ Frank whispered. ‘Remember, I won't allow you to be imprisoned. It contravenes my programming. Nerakan security is shambolic, so we'll easily escape.’

John said nothing. As a plan, it wasn't radically different from his thoughts as they left Asquith’s, before four rockets reduced the factory to rubble. Somehow, he would send a message to his friends. Then, together, they would build a new —

‘Feel that?’ Casper growled. ‘Off-road. ‘And now smooth again.’

John got out of his seat and shuffled to the back of the vehicle. Nose pressed against the glass, he watched the trees diminish in size. They were on grass, a great meadow.

‘Here we are,’ Frank hissed. ‘I'll reassess when we speak to the welcome crew. But if I decide we're leaving, if I see an opportunity, you need to be right behind me, John. Casper too, but I'll speak to him in a moment. Understood?’

John nodded.

The transport slowed its progress before stopping altogether. Then came the descent, an unsettling movement to which John was yet to adapt. With no moon above, the darkness outside was now absolute. The drive was, as always, brutally short, leaving the passengers little time to share final words of encouragement and pessimism. When the APC came to a halt, the leaden weight in John's chest plummeted to his abdomen. Harsh light from the hangar illuminated the vehicle’s interior; tired eyes blinked. Boots were heard on the ground around the vehicle. The ramp door clattered open; warm air rushed in.

‘Fall out!’ a voice barked.

John, Casper and Frank were closest to the ramp and disembarked first. Grumbling, the troops followed.

Blanchflower was waiting for them, and she was not alone. Vice President Fitzwilliam was to her right-hand side. He was a step or two behind, though; his eyes were fiery, as if he'd been arguing. It appeared the whole Nerakan Army – between four and five hundred men and women – was in attendance, standing to attention in neat rows. At their front was Colonel Abraham. He was tall, stick-thin, with a face rarely troubled by smiles. His soldiers were now barefaced. The city’s police force, approximately half the size of the military, was also present. Flanking the president, a personal guard of twenty, the white flower symbol of their leader on their tunics, stood ramrod-straight. Everybody, apart from Blink and his retinue, was armed. It was an impressive show of strength, designed to intimidate.

Blink did not quail, however. As rigid and impassive as anyone in the vast chamber, he removed his cap and approached his leader.

Her guardsmen stiffened. Their hands moved to the rifles slung over their shoulders.

Chin held high, the president told her men to stand down. ‘We are all friends here,’ she said in a loud, clear voice. 'General Blink, I am so glad you're here to celebrate with us.'

'Celebrate what, Madam President?' Blink's hands were behind his back, holding his cap. His knuckles whitened.

'We are celebrating Colonel Abraham's promotion to General. You see, now that you're stepping down as army chief, we need a man with expertise, with dynamism. But most of all, with loyalty.'

'I have no intention of stepping down, ma'am. On the contrary. I'm interested in stepping up.'

There was a collective jingle of metal as at least three quarters of the Army's number raised their longarms to aim them at Blanchflower and Blink. The latter turned his back on his superior and strolled away from her; the rifles remained pointing at Neraka's elected head of state.

John looked left and right, gauging the reactions of those in the hangar. A sizeable chunk of the Army, all of whom were positioned close to Abraham, were in a state of confusion.

The colonel's face was now puce, his lips quivering. 'Defend the president!'

With another tinkle of gun parts, the remaining hundred soldiers sighted Blink.

'Should try and escape before the shooting starts,' said Casper.

Frank's eyes were flitting from one side to the other, assessing, calculating.

Police Chief Salinsky was the next to step forward; he commanded his police officers to protect Blanchflower.

The odds were even, the battle lines drawn. The fight for Neraka was about to begin.

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Stuart

Chapter 53

John’s battle was over almost before it began.

Elbows on knees, chin cupped in his hands, he prayed his headache would subside. Sat in one of Colonel Abraham's armoured personnel carriers, he was uncomfortable, tired and probably concussed. He cast a look at Casper and Frank. ‘And that's it?’

‘Yup.’ Casper's craggy, stubbled face was drawn. ‘That's the sum of it. Dozen, maybe twenty deaths.’

‘Eighteen,’ Frank corrected. ‘Thirty non-fatal casualties, eight of which are critical.’

‘Fuck. They'd still be alive if it wasn't for me.’

‘How do you figure that?’ Casper asked.

‘That printer of mine.’

‘Can't help having a printer, buddy. Wasn't your choice. To go back and get it.’

‘Yeah, but if I'd never come here in the first place, Blink would've never known about it, would he?’

‘Hindsight’s a hawk.’

‘Still…’ John sighed. ‘Probably kids without parents due to me and my printer.’

‘Don't know that.’ Casper peeked out of the APC’s rear window.

‘There are six children who have lost a parent as a result of the skirmish in the hangar, according to official reports.’ Frank’s eyes were glazed over; he was accessing Neraka’s data systems. ‘One infant is an orphan, because both —’

‘That's enough,’ Casper growled. ‘Need to get you disconnected from that security computer. Gift and a curse.’

John said nothing. His head, injured in a fall during the chaos of the night's events, was pounding. Also painful was his arm. That injury was caused by Silas, again due to the fucking printer.

‘Could've been a lot worse, John,’ Casper said. ‘Hundreds of combatants. Tight space. Miracle there wasn't a bloodbath.’

Through the pain, John tried to recollect the scenes. Once each side had levelled their rifles, there was a moment of complete silence. Then someone, possibly in error, fired. Somebody else returned the gesture. Orders, screams, gunfire, ricochets, boots on cement. He remembered Frank's hand on his back, directing him towards the safety of the vehicles in which they'd arrived minutes earlier. A man, blood pouring from his neck, had fallen in front of him. John tripped, and everything afterwards was a haze. The smell of sweat and blood prevailed, but everything else was a blur.

Frank and Casper had filled in the gaps. The former has been focussed on conducting his creator to safety, with one of the armoured vehicles an obvious destination. Observant as ever, Casper noted more of the action. After trading volleys, officers on each side evidently realised that a straightforward gunfight, with little cover, in a confined arena, would lead to a massacre. The result was a bizarre mutual stand-down. Blink's combined force headed for the hangar's main pedestrian exit. Those faithful to Blanchflower and Abraham left via the vehicular entry. Each army took their dead and wounded with them. The fighting was continuing elsewhere in Neraka, though, as evidenced by frequent bursts of automatic fire.

‘Sure it's not safe to leave yet?’ John wanted to find Amber and the others.

‘Probably,’ Casper said. ‘Probably won't get shot. Probably won't get captured.’

‘Yeah, so…’

‘“Probably” good enough for you?’

‘I take your point. But we've all seen worse than this. And Amber, the others, they might be in danger. We could make a difference.’

Casper shrugged, as if he were happy to remain in the APC until doomsday.

‘Frank? Are there any soldiers nearby?’

‘I'm not sure,’ Frank replied. ‘There are people nearby, within fifty metres in fact, but whether they're military, police or civilian, I have no idea.’

‘Shit. Police are bad, right?’ John’s brain was still muddled.

‘Yup.’ Casper grinned. ‘Some of the soldiers are, too. Abraham's.’

‘Fucksake. What a mess.’

‘True. Big mess.’

‘Surely they'll all, you know, calm down at some point?’

Casper guffawed. ‘Not likely. They lost comrades. Friends. And when they do “calm down,” I'm sure Blanchflower and Blink will be there to rile them up some.’

‘So, it's a civil war?’

‘Yup.’

‘Underground?’

‘Yessir.’

‘Crazy bastards.’ John massaged his temples. ‘Well, we can't just sit in here all day. Frank, go and investigate. See what's going on.’

The bot responded without hesitation. While he was absent, a nearby exchange of rifle rounds had John worried he'd sent Frank to his destruction. But the machine returned within ten minutes, closing the ramp door behind him. ‘Blink's men have secured the hangar exits. Blanchflower's have gone further into the city.’

‘Is Blink there?’ John asked.

‘No, he's left a detachment.’

‘Nice of him,’ Casper said.

‘What, they're here for us?’

‘Yes, John, they're looking for us.’

‘Hoping to claim the golden goose.’ Casper tipped his forehead at Frank.

‘Or geese,’ the bot said. ‘I think the printer is more valuable than anything else. Regardless, we should leave. They believe a platoon, presumably still loyal to Blanchflower and Abraham, is patrolling the woods above Neraka. No doubt they'll be recalled, which means they could arrive here at any time.’

‘Did you tell them where we were?’

‘No. I wasn't sure if that was prudent. So I told them I'd lost you, and had to relocate you due to my programming. But we need to go. If we're quick, we can catch them up. And we'll be safer with them.’

‘Good point,’ John agreed. He and Casper followed Frank out of the APC. Momentarily, his eyes lingered on the blood-trails criss-crossing the hangar's asphalt, on the empty bullet casings glinting in the harsh industrial lighting.

‘Come on.’ Frank marched briskly towards the exit. ‘I detect a vehicle approaching, from outside of Neraka, judging by its elevation.’

Casper cursed and broke into a jog. Doing likewise, John almost slipped on a streak of crimson. He could hear an engine, and it was getting closer.

They were twenty metres from the exit when the skidding of tyres made John look over his shoulder. He almost lost his footing in another pool of blood. Frank was holding the hangar door open.

Another almighty rubber screech.

‘Come on, John!’ the bot urged.

A metallic clunk. Booted feet hit the blacktop. ‘Freeze!’ The woman’s voice echoed in the vast space.

Shots sounded; concrete chipped; more shouts.

Beating Casper, John flew through the double doors of the pedestrian entry. He felt a bullet miss his ear by a millimetre.

Frank waved the two humans on while seizing an iron post topped with a sign reading “HANGAR.” The metal protested as it was torn from the ground, drowning out the thunder of boots in pursuit. As he pounded down the darkened corridor, John swivelled at a rattle from the hangar. Frank had jammed the doors together with the signpost just in time.

‘Keep going!’ Casper growled, catching up with John.

Frank overtook them both and went right at a junction. A heartbeat later, his head reappeared. ‘Hurry! We can catch Blink’s men.’

Blowing hard now, John pushed himself onwards. The battering of the barricade behind them was becoming more intense. He and Casper turned the corner; Frank was fifteen metres in advance, about to turn left into a brightly-lit walkway. A clatter of steel from the direction of the hangar was followed by a tattoo of soles on ground. A woman yelled something incoherent.

They turned left. Into a long, broad passageway, with stark LED lights overhead. At its end there was another intersection.

‘Faster, John!’ Frank was about to go right.

John and Casper were side-by-side now, both puffing and sweating.

The pursuing platoon was gaining ground. The heavy bass of footfalls was complemented by the tinkle of bouncing gun parts and grenade pins.

Suddenly, behind Frank, appeared a score of black-clad soldiers.

‘Fuck!’ John came to a halt.

‘It's okay,’ Frank said. ‘They're Blink's men.’

‘GET DOWN!’ one of the gunmen screamed.

For a second, John didn't realise he was being addressed. Then he squatted and turned. At the other end of the walkway, troops in green and black gear were dropping to firing positions.

The roar of machine guns was ear-splitting.

Hot metal whipped overhead. Camouflaged bodies jerked. Blood spurted.

The barrage lasted all of three seconds, but they were the longest of John’s life. When it was over, every one of Blanchflower's patrolmen were eliminated. Some moaned, and others coughed and spluttered.

‘GET UP! GET UP NOW!’

In a daze, John complied and helped Casper to his feet.

‘MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!’

***

Blink’s “barracks” was actually a large, almost empty vehicle repair centre. A couple of battered service vehicles and a 4x4 were the only patients, however, and they appeared to have received more dust than attention. Half of the ceiling lights were faulty. The tang of oil pervaded, but at least it partially-masked the stink of several hundred bodies. Soldiers chatted, laughed and griped. The occasional barked order echoed around the vast space.

Sat in the only chair of the head mechanic’s former office, Blink eyeballed the three figures before him. ‘You have no fucking choice, John.’ He punctuated with a slap to the desk.

‘Yes.’ John’s nostrils flared. ‘We fucking do. We're not your men to command.’

‘You are now.’

‘Bullshit! You've almost killed us twice now, with your ambition.’

‘This is on Blanchflower! She's a —’

‘I don't give a shit about your petty little rivalry. There are people here I care about, people —’

Blink hammered the bureau again. ‘You will see them, John! But like I said, they'll be a helluva lot safer when I win.’

John almost bit back. He snorted in derision instead.

‘John,’ Casper said.

Frank was impassive.

‘John!’

Breaking eye contact with the general, John turned to Casper. ‘What?’

‘Outside. Have a chat. For a moment.’

John sighed and followed his friend out of the cabin, ignoring the stares of the squaddies he passed.

‘What you fucking looking at, kid?’ Casper said to one particularly-curious fellow before leading the other two to a quiet corner.

John kicked an empty drink carton. ‘He's got no right! No fu—’

‘John! Get. A. Grip. Just breathe.’

‘Your blood pressure is elevated,’ Frank added. ‘Your capacity for rational thought is compromised. You —’

‘Shut up, Frank,’ John said, but with less force.

‘Listen,’ Casper began. ‘Blink's an asshole. I get it. But he's right —’

‘What?!’

‘Right about one thing. Amber, your friends. Be safer if this ends.’

‘Blink doesn't want to end it! He wants to win.’

‘Most battles are won when one side wins. So we need to pick a side. Try and help that side win. End the fighting.’

‘But why Blink's side? Amber and the others are probably on Blanchflower's.’

‘Maybe. We don't know. But be better if we pick the winning side. Less chance of dying. And if she picked the other side, you can make friends when the shooting’s done.’

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache he'd got rid of was threatening to return. He asked why Casper thought Blink would win.

The older man said soldiers were better in combat than police officers.

Nodding sagely, Frank stated that Blink had a sixty-eight percent chance of victory.

‘I just want to see her, that's all.’

‘I know, buddy. I might be old. But I ain't stupid. I get it. There's bigger things at stake, though.’

John would've bridled, but he felt suddenly exhausted. 'What do you mean?'

'Blanchflower. Blink. Abraham. Fitzwilliam. Hardline. Softline. None of these things matter. It's the people that matter. Being dragged into a battlezone. Because their bosses don't agree on shit. Because Blink got ideas above his station and took us on that crazy mission to get that fucking printer. Know how many kids are in Neraka?'

'No.'

'Me neither, but it's a fair few thousand. Know what's the most fucked up thing about us humans?'

'Everything.'

Casper chuckled, attracting a look from a passing female soldier. 'Apart from that.' He elaborated: people thought that by having children, they were bestowing a gift. The gift of life. In his opinion, nothing was further from the truth. Babies didn't ask to be born. Often, especially these days, but also in the past depending on their background, they had deprived childhoods, full of pain and fear. They were plunged from oblivion into an unforgiving world. Life was a poisoned chalice, not a blessing, for too many. A child's life was dictated by their parents, whom they didn't choose, and by environmental conditions over which they had no control. Only once they reached adulthood could they make their own way. By then, though, it was often too late. The minor might not have survived that long, and even if they did, their experiences could've nurtured them into an adult who made bad decisions. 'So we owe it to them,' the older man concluded. 'The kids. We owe it to them not to fuck up their lives any more than we can help. Least we can do. Everything else in life is pointless.'

'Shit.' John looked at Frank, who'd been listening intently, then back at Casper. 'And I thought I was a nihilist.'

'You disagree?'

'I don't know. But you're right about protecting the kids. A civil war... it's horrible to think about. Frank, what are our chances?'

'Of reaching the softliners?' the bot asked. 'Seventy percent. Of persuading them to back Blink? I'm not sure. There are too many variables, I don't know enough about them to make a decision. Blink's softline, but he'll been seen as a dictator. And Blanchflower’s not exactly hardline. On the other hand, if Blink can put twenty like me on the battlefield, the war will be over in a day. Blanchflower would surrender almost immediately, of that I have no doubt.’

John tapped his foot on the floor.

'So we're going?' Casper asked.

‘Across a battleground to Babylon?’ Being a hero had always appealed to John, but dying a hero? ‘Why not?’