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I thought, if I ever returned to the Merge, that it would be a joyous moment, that I’d pause to sniff the air, beam at the mushrooms that grow everywhere, and take a while to relish being back. But there’s no time for any of that. If I don’t move quickly, I’m finished.
I’m in a zone that looks a lot like the countryside in England, hills and villages in the near distance, except it has a green sky. There’s also a high, green wall joining the sky with the ground. It’s called a buffer, and it defines the barrier of the zone.
There are lots of shimmering patches dotted across the buffer, boreholes to other zones. They’re all open, and I’ve popped out in the middle of a cluster of them, a couple of dozen or more to either side of me.
I choose to go left and scurry along, ignoring the first several boreholes, figuring Orlan and Argate will be forced to try them in order if they carry on looking for me. Still running, and counting off the seconds inside my head – I’m up to nineteen – I glance back. No sign of the killers. I allow myself four more seconds, then stop in front of a yellow, triangular-shaped patch of light. I treat myself to a quick grin and raise a foot to step through.
“No,” a voice inside my head murmurs. “Push on.”
That voice has spoken to me before, but not in a while. It saved me on the bridge in London last year, when I first crossed paths with Orlan and Argate, and helped me get the better of the Empress of Suanpan. I want to ask where it’s been, and why it’s chosen this moment to speak again, but there’s no time for a debate. I either ignore the voice and cross, or trust it and keep moving.
Cursing bitterly, I decide to follow the voice’s instruction. I start running again and resume the count. Twenty-eight... thirty-three... forty...
Orlan and Argate come barrelling through as I hit fifty-two. They’re arguing.
“...should have let me open the damn lock,” Argate complains.
“You’re no more a master of locks than I am,” Orlan snaps.
“But I might have...” Argate stops and swears, far more foully than I did. “Look at all the boreholes. He could have ducked through any of them. We’ll never find him now.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Orlan replies, and even though I’m not looking, I feel him pointing at me with his knife.
“Why’s he still here?” Argate asks, and it’s a good question.
“I have no idea,” Orlan says coolly, “but it means the chase is still on.”
I sense the killers storming after me but don’t look back. I’m waiting for the voice to speak again. I’m close to the end of the cluster of boreholes. If it doesn’t direct me soon, I’ll hurl myself through one of the boreholes and hope for the best.
“No,” the voice says as it did before. “Push on.”
“Tell me why,” I groan, but there’s no response.
I’m at the final borehole and it’s a bit of a trek to the next cluster. I’m desperate to jump through, but hold my course, placing myself at the mercy of the voice.
I’m panting heavily, more with fear than exhaustion. I’m certain I’ve messed up, and any second now I’m going to feel a hand fall on my shoulder as Orlan and Argate claim me for their own.
I glance back, and there they are, trotting along, smiling viciously. Orlan waves. I moan, but even though they’re closer than they were in London, they’re not within grabbing distance.
“Should we take him?” Argate asks.
“Soon,” Orlan murmurs.
“If he slips through another borehole...”
“We’ll follow,” Orlan says. “He won’t escape.”
He sounds so confident that part of me wants to stop and surrender. If I gave up, at least I wouldn’t have to endure this nightmarish pursuit any longer. They’re going to catch me in the end. Why not spare myself the horror of the hunt?
“Stop,” the voice says, and for a wretched moment I think it’s urging me to give myself up. But then I see that I’ve come to another borehole, a simple rectangular shape, but one the killers can’t see, because it’s not a zone borehole, but a gateway back to the Born.
“He freezes,” Orlan cackles. “I love it when they freeze. We’ll take him while...”
I touch the borehole and it shimmers, turning a dark yellow colour. Orlan and Argate couldn’t see it before, but they can now that it’s active, and their mood switches dramatically. Orlan barrels towards me, his partner just behind. I spy them out of the corner of my eye as my left hand darts into the lock and my fingers twist and turn. It’s a simple lock, like the one in London, but I don’t have six seconds this time. The killers are almost upon me.
Thankfully the lock opens after three and I leap through with a scream, just as Orlan is reaching for me.
There’s no time to shut the borehole. I stagger away as Orlan barges through, Argate hot on his heels.
We’re in the middle of a quiet road. It’s much colder than in London, and darker too. Snowflakes are drifting through the air. I slip and fall as I run. I try to get up, but slip again. I turn onto my back and scrabble backwards, staring up at my pursuers sickly, waiting for them to take me.
Orlan and Argate are standing still, looking around, smiling softly.
“I know this city,” Orlan says.
“We’ve enjoyed good times here in the past,” Argate agrees.
Despite my fear, I check my surroundings, curious as to why the killers find it so appealing. The buildings on either side don’t give much away, but I spot the tops of a few strange structures in the near distance, spires that look like Christmas tree decorations. One’s blue and white, another green and yellow, and a third’s a golden colour.
I’ve often seen pictures of those buildings, especially on the news, whenever there’s a story about Russia. It’s the Kremlin, which means I’m in Moscow.
I’m not thrown by the change of countries. I know from my previous time in the Merge that space as the Born understand it doesn’t exist in that sphere. A borehole can take a person from one side of the Earth to the other in a second or two.
What bothers me is that I don’t see what advantage I have here. The voice made me come this way. I could have taken any of the boreholes in Diamond, but it insisted on this one. Why? I don’t know this city. I have nowhere to hide, and there’s nobody here who can help me. I’d have been better off in London.
Orlan and Argate must think the same way, because they share a smile.
“I wonder where he thought he’d end up?” Orlan asks.
“Somewhere very different from here,” Argate chuckles. “I think he hoped for an army to defend him.”
“An army wouldn’t have stopped us,” Orlan says.
“You’re not that deadly,” I wheeze, still scrabbling away from them, shivering in the cold Russian air.
“We might surprise you,” Argate says grimly, then tuts. “We should have taken you before this. Our master would have been furious if we’d let you slip through our fingers. My stomach sank when that borehole in London opened.”
“Mine too,” Orlan laughs. “We must stop playing with our prey.”
“I don’t think we need stop completely,” Argate coos. “We just have to be more careful and not let them get quite so far ahead.”
“You’re right, as always,” Orlan says. “Now, before this one has a chance to run again...”
The killer starts towards me, Argate moving beside him. They spread their arms. I try to rise, but my feet keep slipping. I turn onto my stomach and crawl, but don’t get far before a hand clenches my right ankle.
“Come, little one,” Orlan whispers as I open my mouth to scream. “Time to –”
A bright light snaps on and startles me. It startles Orlan too, and I hear him and Argate wince. A second later, there’s a roaring noise that makes me think a lion is at large in the middle of Moscow, until I realise it’s the growl of an engine.
A vehicle screeches towards us, a single light growing brighter by the second, illuminating the surrounding area. Orlan lets go of my ankle and stands. The killers draw their weapons. They don’t look stunned or angry, just determined to deal with whatever’s being thrown at them.
I glance at the oncoming vehicle again, this time shielding my eyes with a hand, and make out a figure on a motorbike. I think it’s a man. One of his arms is stretched behind him.
“Eyes closed and head down!” he bellows, his arm swinging forwards as he lobs an object at Orlan and Argate. I obey the order, shut my eyes and cover my head with my hands.
The night explodes with purple light that flashes through the cover of my fingers and eyelids. I gasp and roll over, blinking like crazy, the world a bewildering purple haze around me.
Then, as the bike draws to a halt beside me, engine throbbing, my vision starts to clear. I spot Orlan and Argate on all fours, cursing shrilly, sightless and lost.
“They’ll only be blind a few moments,” the man on the motorbike says, then pats the seat behind him. “Get on.”
I’ve no idea who he is or what he wants with me, but he can’t be more dangerous than Orlan Stiletto and Argate Axe. A helping hand has been thrust in my direction, and I’d be a fool if I hesitated.
Still blinking, half-blind, trembling with cold and shock, I lurch to my feet, then climb on behind the driver. Argate bellows and hurls his axe at the man, but he can’t see, and although the axe flies surprisingly close to its mark, it sails wide. Orlan advances, blindly stabbing at the air.
The rider doesn’t turn to check on me. Instead, as I wrap my arms round him, he revs the engine, spins the bike one hundred and eighty degrees, cuts the light, then roars off back in the direction he came from. I press my face between his shoulder blades and cling on desperately, and within seconds we’re swallowed by the shadows of the wintry Moscow night.