CHAPTER SIX

KILL

 

 

“HERE,” SAID BECK, thrusting a chipped mug at me.

“What is it?” I asked, eying her with suspicion.

“What does it smell like?”

Tentatively I raised the mug to my nose and took a sniff. My eyes widened, the bruise on my forehead twinging.

“You’re kidding me? Coffee?”

“Or as near as dammit,” said Beck, taking a sip from her own blue-and-white-checked mug.

“Where did you get it? Actually, no. I don’t care. Thank you.”

I took a sip, the hot liquid burning my lips. The bitter taste washed over my tongue. It had been a long time since I tasted coffee. I could barely remember if this was good or bad—but it was welcome.

To be honest, while my introduction to Brennan’s gang had been less than welcoming, things had rapidly improved. They’d given me a room among the old offices to change—even providing some reasonably clean clothes and, miracle of miracles, showed me where they had installed a makeshift shower in the corner of the storeroom downstairs. It was cold, of course, using rainwater they’d collected in giant butts on the roof, but alongside a bar of gritty chemical-smelling soap, I wasn’t complaining. It was also far from private, what little remained of my dignity protected by loose plastic sheeting draped around some old clothes horses, but, again, I barely gave a fuck. So, I was washing under the gaze of curious gang members nearby. What did it matter? I was clean, properly clean for the first time in months.

Who would have thought I’d care?

Certainly not me.

“How’s the nose?” I asked Beck, taking another swig of the coffee.

She shrugged, although it had to hurt. It had been set—to a fashion—beneath a long plaster, but the bruises around her eyes were obvious.

I almost felt sorry.

“How’s the head?” she responded.

“Still as thick as ever.”

She almost smiled.

“So, how long have you been with Brennan?”

“Long enough.”

“Quite some time, then.”

“Does it matter?”

Small talk wasn’t her thing. I got that. Even appreciated it. But she’d been the one to offer the java-infused olive branch.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, finishing the cup.

“No problem.”

Why was she even here? I looked at my watch, looking past the cracked face. It still worked, that was all that mattered. Besides, it had been a present from Jasmine. It was the nearest thing I had to a treasure.

“Brennan’s on her way,” Beck said, assuming I was getting twitchy. “She had things to attend do.”

“She’s the boss,” I said, putting the mug on top of the papers I’d carefully laid out on the table beside us. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What about you?” Beck asked, surprising me with the question.

“What about me?”

She took another sip. “How long have you been a merc?”

I was tempted to say ‘long enough.’

“Since a little after the Cull. A lifetime.”

“And before?”

I grinned, mocking a yank accent. “That’s classified, ma’am.”

This time she did actually smile, showing a row of yellowed teeth. “Special forces?”

“Something like that. Who trained you?”

“I was brought up on the streets. Can’t remember much about life before.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

There were footsteps from the hall outside. Brennan was on her way. Beck’s posture changed. She’d started to relax for bit, there. Now it was back to business. She drained the last dregs from the mug and placed it on the side of the table, standing up straight, her arms behind her back.

Chat time was over.

Brennan walked in, Fenton beside her, strutted along like a ’90s Brit-Rocker. I wasn’t looking forward to having him by my side. Beck I could trust, at least to handle herself in case we got in trouble. When we got in trouble. Fenton, well, one glance told you that he was full of it. A legend in his own mind. Shame his body didn’t match up. As scrawny as a smackhead, with a pock-marked, ratty face. And the stink. Why didn’t Brennan insist that he take a shower? Perhaps they didn’t notice anymore. Live with shit long enough and you no longer smell it.

“Did you enjoy the coffee?” Brennan asked, coming to a stop in front of me.

“From her own stash,” Fenton pointed out, wanting me to be impressed.

I ignored him, replying directly to Brennan instead. “Best brew I’ve had for years. Thanks. For everything.”

“The least we could do,” the woman said, stepping forward to look at the papers on the desk, “seeing that you’re going to get us into... what did you say it was called?”

“Abbey Wood.”

“Sounds like a retirement home,” said Fenton, sneering.

I brought the largest sheet of paper to the top of the pile. “I don’t know about that, but if you’re looking to build a nest, you could ask for a lot worse.”

I’d drawn a rough map of the complex, half from memory and half from my observations that morning.

“As I said, the base is made up of four main Neighbourhoods—”

Brennan interrupted immediately. “Neighbourhoods?”

I had to give him that one.

“Sorry—MoD speak. Four main buildings, each with four or more wings. Back in the day, each building corresponded to a different service.” I pointed out each building as I ran through the list. “Navy, Army, Air Force and so on. Each had accommodation, offices, cafés...” I shot a look at Fenton. “Shower blocks. The whole kit and caboodle. Moat on one side, fencing on the other.”

“Which they’ve added to since,” cut in Beck.

I nodded. “From what I saw yesterday, the entire campus has been surrounded by a secondary perimeter fence, topped with razor-wire.” I tapped on the former entrance to the base. “The road in here has been barricaded, new gates constructed, and subsequently clad with metal plates.”

“Iron sheeting,” Brennan confirmed.

“Have you tried to take them?”

“We have a van parked round the side of the store,” Fenton revealed. “We were going to drive through the gates, you know, like a battering ram.”

“But?”

“But we haven’t enough fuel,” Brennan admitted.

“We have a few canisters of gas for the generator,” added Fenton, “but not enough to get her started.”

“So, scratch that,” I concluded.

“That won’t be a problem though, will it?” Beck asked. “You said you can get us in.”

“Not a problem at all,” I assured her. “So far you’ve attacked the potential weak points, yes?” I put my finger on the location of today’s failed attempt. “Here—”

“And here and here,” Brennan said, pointing.

I nodded, feigning appreciation. “All good spots, but you’re missing a trick. It’s not your fault, of course. You weren’t to know.”

“To know what?” Beck asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

“About the tunnels.”

Brennan’s eyes lit up. “Under the buildings.”

I gave her a conspiratorial grin. “This is an MoD base. Tunnels, bunkers. You name it, it’s under there. There are storerooms full of enough dried rations to survive a nuclear war. Weapons, vehicles. Probably even fuel.”

I pointed out of the window, towards the tall white roofs in the distance. “What you can see is only the tip of the iceberg.”

Brennan was looking hungrily at my maps now. “That’s how we get in? The tunnels?”

I picked up a pencil. “The tunnels were built to allow movement between Neighbourhoods in case of emergency—but they also offered escape.”

I pulled the paper towards me and drew a cross on a blank space above the moat. “This is old farmland, not worth much back then, although the farmer received a healthy subsidy from the Ministry of Defence.”

“Because of the tunnels?” Beck asked.

“There was a hidden entrance on his land,” I confirmed. “I don’t think it was ever used, but it’s there. And if it could let people out...”

“...it can also let people in,” Brennan said.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy. They’ll be deadlocks and security systems.”

“But you can get past them.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem if we work together. How many guns do you have?”

Beck looked to her boss, cautious. Brennan nodded.

“About forty rifles. More handguns; most of us are armed.”

I whistled, actually impressed. “Why haven’t you just stormed the place?”

“I didn’t say we had the ammo to match,” Beck admitted.

“Ah, okay.” That wasn’t so good. “Have any explosives?”

Fenton snorted. “You think those gates would still be standing if we did?”

I tapped the end of the pencil against my teeth and flashed Fenton my brightest smile.

“Then I better take you shopping!”

 

 

THE EVENING WAS drawing in as I led my new allies back across the car park towards the old Woolworths.

“What’s this about?” Fenton whined.

“You’ll see,” I said, bringing them to a door on the side of the building, a door that Beck had marched me past without so much as a second glance that morning.

Keep them on their toes, soldier. Knowledge is power.

I stopped at the door and tried it. It wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” Beck concluded.

“Stuck,” I corrected her, putting my shoulder to it. The door burst open, and I fished a flashlight out my jacket pocket.

They followed me into the building, past an old reception and into a corridor. I paused to listen, just to make sure.

There was nothing, bar the scampering of tiny paws along ancient lino.

“This way,” I said, counting office doors as we continued. One, two, three—and here we were. Another door, this one opening easily enough. I flashed the torch inside, revealing a narrow closet.

“A cleaner’s cupboard?” Beck commented.

I glanced back at the tall woman. “It’s amazing what you can hide in cleaning cupboards.”

Passing my torch to Brennan, I crouched down beside a set of shelves, grabbing the battered holdall I’d stashed at daybreak.

“I didn’t want to lug this up to the room,” I explained, carefully lifting it onto the floor.

“Or mention it when we found you?” Beck pointed out.

“Neither of us were that chatty this morning. We hadn’t even gone for a coffee yet.”

I opened the zip. Brennan aimed the light into the bag.

“Damn.”

That was the reaction I wanted.

Fenton was more obvious. “Explosives!” he grunted, like a kid who’d just found a box of sherbet Dib-Dabs. There was no way I was letting him near this lot.

“Just a little C-4 I’ve picked up on my travels. Not a lot, but enough for what we’ll need. Oh, and then there’s these.”

I reached towards the back of the shelf and pulled aside the broken-up cardboard box I’d use to cover the last of my cache. Carefully, I pulled out the box of six remote grenades.

“Now, who wants to mount an invasion?”