My heart was thumping, my chest heaving. Icy air was tearing at my throat.
I looked at Gibbs. The kid was gulping air just like me, his face slick with sweat. He wiped each palm in turn and renewed his grip on the gun, looking left and right, his eyes wide with fear.
“What the hell happened?” he gasped.
“Someone sold us out,” I told him, “That was an ambush!”
“A trap?”
I nodded: didn’t seem much point wasting breath to talk. We’d been set up, no question.
“Who?” he snatched the word between gulps of air, “Who knew we were here?”
“Who d’ya think?”
He frowned. He didn’t know.
“Hatcher.”
“Who?”
“Shh!”
I raised my gun to signal silence. Gibbs’ mouth snapped shut. Biting his lip, he was struggling to control his breathing. He was trying not to make a noise now because we could both hear them: two, three, maybe more, moving slowly, cautiously, sliding over and around the tangle of pipes, concrete and twisted metal of the barricade. They couldn’t know where we were, but they were definitely moving in our direction.
Gibbs’ eyes were panicked now. I made the slightest shake of the head to reassure him while I tried to scope an escape route. We were hidden, for the moment, by a liquid oxygen storage vessel. As tall as a man, it was coated in thick hoarfrost. The low temperature would fox the scanners until the Stalkers were almost on top of us, but I reckoned we had only a few minutes before the lead Stalker’s scanner was that close. We had to move.
A narrow corridor extended away to our left, featureless. There was no cover but, right at the end, was the door to the loading bay and, even from that distance, I could see that it was ajar; a shaft of weak sunlight drawing a thin bright line across the floor. The Stalkers wouldn’t risk following us in daylight: if we made it out of the door, we’d be safe.
I turned my head. There were several doors across the open area to our right, but I had no idea where they led or whether they were locked. Making a run for any of them, we’d have to break cover. Exposed, we’d be easy targets for the Stalkers’ guns. Unless we made it through the first door, we’d both be dead before we even got to try the handle of the second.
There was no choice: the corridor was our only hope. Gibbs was grimacing as the pain in his shattered leg cut through the morphine. I nodded towards the corridor and his eyes followed mine. He swore, soundlessly and began to shake his head, but I was in no mood to argue: I wasn’t about to leave him here. He winced as I put my arm around him and hoisted his weight against me. He made a weak attempt to shrug me off, but we both knew that, without my help, he was dead; he couldn’t make that run alone.
I took a deep breath and hurled myself forward, dragging Gibbs along beside me.
Like some grimly desperate three-legged race we staggered in a stumbling dash along the corridor. Alerted by our sudden movement, a terrible chorus of alien shrieks and screams went up behind us as the Stalkers gave chase. In seconds they would reach the end of the corridor and have a clear shot at us; we had to get to the door. Beside me, Gibbs was in agony. His eyes were almost closed and his cheeks ran with tears, but he never made a sound.
We were only maybe three feet from the door when a blast slammed into the wall ahead of us. The shock knocked me back a stride but I threw myself forward and bundled the kid through the gaping door. My back exploded in pain as a second, better-aimed, blast hit me, propelling me forwards and out, into the daylight.
We were free!
Ignoring the burning in my back, I quickly forced myself to get to my feet; we had to move away from the door. Gibbs was lying on the ground and he wasn’t moving. I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the lee of a burned-out car. Clapping my hand over his unconscious mouth, I ducked my own head down behind the battered and rusted wheel arch just in time. The door crashed open.
Thankfully, we were hidden from the Stalkers; our location effectively masked by the overload of data swamping their sensors from every angle. I could hear their grunts and the electronic whining of their scanners, overwhelmed by the light and heat flooding this man-made environment beyond the confines of their carefully modulated hive. The sound woke Gibbs with a start. Holding him tightly, I slowly turned his head so he could see my face. The panic in his eyes seemed to ease. Our faces only inches apart, I raised a finger to my lips and assured myself that he had both seen and understood before I took my hand from his mouth.
We stayed there for several more minutes until I was sure that the Stalkers had retreated back into the corridor. Only then did I let myself focus on the pain in my back.
“You’re hurt,” Gibbs whispered.
“No shit!”
“Mac, you’re bleeding.”
“You’re not doing so great yourself, kid.” I managed a grim smile, “I’ll give you another Morphine shot, but I need you to stay with me. We’ve got to get some distance between us and this place. Once it’s dark the whole swarm will be out hunting for us and we don’t have anywhere to hide.”
“I don’t understand. Can’t we just go back to the House?”
“No, kid; someone there set you up to be Stalker-fodder today.”
I hated to have to tell him, but he had to understand the danger he was in. The poor kid was in shock.
“Gibbs, someone you know arranged all this. They arranged to have you killed, or maybe captured to coerce your father. There’s no way you can go back to the House. Not now, maybe not ever.”
Gibbs was pale.
“But you said you knew who did this,” he said, trying to make sense of it all, “You said it was someone called Hatcher.”
“As far as I know, Hatcher’s the only other person who knew we’d be here, but I don’t know that for a fact. I do know that I promised your father I’d keep you safe and I aim to keep that promise.”
“Safe? Mac, I’ve been shot in the leg!”
“OK, not ‘safe’. ‘Breathing’? How does ‘breathing’ sound?”
“I guess that sounds OK,” Gibbs forced an anxious smile.
“Sure it does,” I said, breaking open the Morph shot and giving it to him to drink, “And it sure as hell beats the alternative!”
Buoyed up by my own slug of morphine, keeping low and out of sight, I managed to half-carry, half-drag Gibbs a mile or more out of the city before nightfall. After clambering up the steep, dry walls of the cliff overlooking the road, we finally rested on a rocky outcrop from where I could keep a watch on any traffic below.
“I could take first watch,” Gibbs offered.
“You’re a good kid, but no; I’ll take first watch. You get some rest.”
“It’s no trouble, Mac, I’d like to take the first watch. I feel OK. And, Mac, you’re still bleeding.”
For a moment I was sorely tempted. Even with the morphine, I was in a lot of pain and I was bone-weary with all but carrying Gibbs up to the top of that rockface. But I’d made a promise and I knew my duty.
“Thanks kid, but no.”
“Mac, please let me help you.”
“Look, kid, this isn’t some game. This is life and death. They’ll keep looking for us and if they find us... Well, like I said, it’s life and death.”
“I could use your gun.”
“You’ve got your own gun.”
“What? This?” he held up his gun, “This isn’t a gun. Your gun’s a proper gun.”
I lashed out, pushing the barrel of his gun to one side.
“Soldier, look where you’re pointing that! That’s a loaded gun! Shit like that tells me you’ve got a long way to go and a hell of a lot to learn before you’d be safe using a weapon like this.”
“But Mac -”
“Gibbs, I said no! Now let it go.”
Gibbs looked hurt. The kid had guts and I admired that, but he had to learn that, no matter how important and vital his father might be to the Resistance, out here I was in charge.
Far below us, in the city, I could see lights moving back and forth as the Stalkers searched for us. Eventually the activity eased off; they’d called off the search. All was quiet for several hours.
Then, just before dawn, I noticed something on the road below. No sound, no warning, just a twitch of movement, a minute shift in the darkness, out of the corner of my eye. I nearly missed it. The Stalkers were coming. Those bastards never gave up.
I grabbed the kid, my hand over his mouth. He was awake now, and terrified.
“It’s OK Gibbs, I won’t let them take you. If it comes to it, I’ve got enough ammo in this for both of us. If there’s no way out, I promise, I’ll do what needs doing.”
His eyes opened even wider. He was in blind panic; began struggling and making angry, muffled noises. I held him more tightly, pressing his arms to his sides and closing my hand even harder over his mouth. I really didn’t have time for this; Stalkers were closing on our position. I could hear them scrambling over the scree at the base of the cliff. I needed to reassure the kid. I needed him to calm the fuck down.
“I’m only saying, if it’s necessary, kid. A bullet is quick. You wouldn’t even feel it and, believe me, you do not want these monsters to capture you alive boy.”
His struggling was manic now. I had to shut him up. I couldn’t defend myself, and him, if he carried on struggling like that.
“Sorry kid.”
I hit him over the head with the butt of my gun. His body went limp and I lowered him to the ground. I felt for the pulse at his neck. He was OK. He’d have a headache when he woke up, but he was OK and I could get on with saving our lives. I readied my gun and began to straighten up, raising my head slowly to peer down the slope, into the darkness.
In that instant I heard a sound behind me. I span round. A Stalker towered over me, the moonlight bright on the scales of its skin and on the evil-looking gun in its claw. I knew I had no chance but I raised my own gun. There was a terrific noise. I’d been hit.
I fell back, muscles pulsing with pain.
I could feel myself slipping into darkness.
I should have been dead.
But I was alive. I woke up on a pallet, my arms, legs and chest pinned down; in restraints. I was still alive. How could I still be alive?
All I could see was white and light; a ceiling above me. I twisted my head to left and right. As far as I could tell, I was in a small, featureless room. A cell?
I thought I was alone, until a familiar voice suddenly came from behind my head.
“Hello again Mr Macintosh.”
“Hatcher!”
“How are you feeling?”
I struggled with all my strength to get free, to get at the bastard who had betrayed me.
“Where’s the kid?” I spat the words, “Hatcher, so help me, when I get free, I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Where’s Gibbs? Where’s the kid? If you let the Stalkers have him, so help me!”
“Stalkers?”
“You bastard! Tell me where he is!”
“Calm yourself, Macintosh. Gibbs? If you mean Gibor Mendes; he’s back with his family. And safe, no thanks to you.”
“What! What the fuck? What are you talking about?” I was now struggling so violently that the whole pallet shook, “Let me out of these, Hatcher, you son of a bitch!”
“Gibor Mendes, the boy you kidnapped, is back with his family and you, Macintosh, are incredibly lucky to be alive; the police were armed and had instructions to shoot you if necessary to save the boy.”
“Police? What the hell are you talking about?”
Hatcher ignored me.
“When Gibor went missing, his father called in every favour and pulled every string to get him back alive and, let me tell you, Anton Mendes has some very rich and powerful friends. No one would have looked too hard or asked any awkward questions if you’d been shot dead resisting arrest. You’re lucky they couldn’t risk hurting the boy; they only fired warning shots.”
“I was shot.”
“No, Macintosh, you were not.”
“Stalkers shot me in the back.”
“No, Macintosh, you ripped open your own shoulder on a broken metal hinge as you forced yourself through a vent in the wall of a storage facility. I’m told the opening was barely wide enough for the boy, never mind a grown man.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Hatcher? What’s going on?”
“You really don’t remember? Anton Mendes. Do you remember talking to Anton Mendes?”
“Gibb’s father?” a memory of our conversation came into my mind, “Yes, I remember Mendes: leader of the Resistance. I promised him I’d look after his son,” another memory flashed back, “And you betrayed us to the Stalkers, you bastard!”
By now my wrists were torn and bleeding, but the restraints held.
“Mendes senior,” Hatcher continued, sounding almost bored, “Is a businessman. He is, or was, a patron of this institution, a very generous patron. Before you absconded, we have you on CCTV, breaking into my office and stealing some files. I’m guessing you took Mendes’ file and used it to find him, snatch his son and make the calls to the family home threatening to kill the boy.”
“Me? Kill the kid? What the hell? That’s bullshit and you know it!”
“Macintosh, you did threaten to kill their son. The boy confirmed it. He said you threatened to kill him and commit suicide yourself, just before you were caught.”
“No. No, that was only if Stalkers over-ran our position and were about to capture us.”
“Then perhaps we should all be grateful it didn’t come to that.”
“Is Gibbs OK?”
“Well, I daresay the trauma of all this will last several years and make some lucky analyst very wealthy, but his doctors say his leg will heal completely, given time and rest.”
“His leg! They shot him in the leg.”
“Ballistics say the boy was probably shot accidentally when you wrestled his bodyguard for the gun.”
“Bodyguard? No, it was the Stalkers.”
“Ah yes, the Stalkers. Lucky for you the ‘Stalker’ who ‘over-ran your position’ chose to use his Taser or, right now, I’d be short one patient.”
Everything was beginning to unravel. I didn’t understand. None of this made any sense to me. I remembered the Stalkers. They were real, very damn real, so why was Hatcher trying to deny it?
My head was spinning. Feeling weak and nauseous, I banged my head on the pallet, desperate to clear my brain.
I trusted my memory, I’d been through too much to doubt it, but it made no sense that Hatcher would make all this up. The Stalkers could be forcing him. But why? If they wanted to keep their existence secret, why hadn’t they just killed me?
I needed to look into Hatcher’s eyes. I needed to know if he was lying to me.
“Hatcher?”
He corrected me, but without any hint of irritation in his voice.
“Doctor Hatcher.“
I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I went along with it.
“I’m sorry. Doctor Hatcher?”
“What is it Macintosh?”
“Doctor, could you come round to the side, where I can see you? It’s really weird talking to a disembodied voice.”
“Very well.”
I heard him get up from his chair. A few paces brought him into sight. He stopped a few feet away from the pallet, lowered his glasses and smiled.
“Is that better, Macintosh? Do you remember me now?”
“I do. I do, sir, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Macintosh,” he sighed, “In a way, you know, I blame myself. Clearly supervision was lacking in the administration of your medication. In short, Macintosh, I believe you were not always taking your pills.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I will take them from now on.”
“Good man, good man. That’s the attitude. We might perhaps look at upping the doses for you; help you keep things straight.”
“I’m so grateful, Doctor.”
“No need, no need. Let’s just get you well.”
He took a step forward.
“We’ll make a start on that, first thing tomorrow, eh, Macintosh?“
He smiled and took another step. I could feel my hand slowly beginning to slide under the restraint, lubricated by the warm blood coating my wrist,
Hatcher hadn’t noticed.
“For now,” he said, “I just want you to try to get some rest.”
In a final, foolish, inattentive lapse, Hatcher moved to give my hand a reassuring pat. In the instant that he felt the wet blood on my skin and before he was even fully aware of the movement of my hand, I had already grabbed his glasses, smashed them on the pallet and driven the twisted metal frame into his eyes. As he screamed, I clamped my hand across his mouth and began to scrape some of the skin from his face.
I knew now. I’d seen it in his eyes. They weren’t human eyes. Hatcher wasn’t just working for them; he was one of them. He was a Stalker. Somehow he’d adopted human form, but I knew I’d find his lizard skin underneath. Once I had the proof, I’d get out of here and rescue the kid.
I’d promised his father. And I always keep my promises.