most of the answers were kept from me. The only reason for that is home, the place where berserkers used to live that was beyond the eyes of normal people, A place underground, with almost everything we needed to survive. If I knew all about it and where it was, that would put me in danger, and put home in danger. It was a safe place then and it's still safe now. I think that's where Lane and Sophia went with their children. And I hope that's where they're going to take us. It's so close I can almost taste it.
Things feel different now, Daddy. Now that Mister Wolf has come back, things feel very different. I hope they can go back to how they were years ago, before I was born … but I'm not sure they can. We're known now, you see. People know of us. And as Mummy told me, it was always being unknown that made it easy for us to survive.
The berserkers took people, sometimes. You know that. I understand what that may mean to you, but it's the way we lived, the way nature made us. You take pigs and cows and sheep, we took people. At least we murder for food within our own species. Lane and the others must have been doing that these last ten years, but maybe not much, and maybe not near home. We'll see, they'll tell us. And then there's …
Natasha trailed off, falling into that uncomfortable silence that Tom was growing to understand. She had things to say that she did not wish him to hear.
'And then there's Steven,' he said, finishing for her. 'Food for them. Fresh food. Kept in their home like so much fodder.'
Don't sound bitter, Daddy.
'He's my son!' Tom said, and a spear of pain bit into his back. Is that you? he thought. Is that you punishing me, Natasha? 'And I'm not your daddy. You saw him shot. I saw that in your memory, and however much you try to shut it out it's still there, fresh and clear.' The pain stayed away, but Tom felt as if he were balancing on the edge of a lake of agony. Only Natasha's hand held onto him, and were she to let go he would drown.
You said you'd be my new daddy, she said, her voice hitching, dry sobs taking the place of breaths. Tom remembered how the young Steven made him feel like the worst father in the world with one tear, and Natasha had the same gift. Maybe all children do. Too small to protect themselves, they manipulate the emotions of adults to do so.
'I will,' Tom said. 'I am. You're like a new baby, aren't you? Birthed up from the ground, growing, learning? And what was the first thing you saw?'
You.
'Me.' She stroked his mind and the pain in his back went away, shoved down with the true memories of the past day. It would be back, along with Jo, and when that time came the pain and grief may well kill him. But if he had Steven in his arms by then, perhaps he would be able to fight through them both.
It took Cole another half an hour to realise the enormity of what he was doing. He'd stolen a car, yes, but he'd stolen someone's baby as well! The little girl had dropped off to sleep, lulled by the motion of the car, and for that he was glad. But he kept the rearview mirror twisted down, and he continued checking that she was alright. The crying had ceased, Natasha had left him alone and dragged the imaginary ghost away with her, and Cole was on his own. It gave him time to think.
He passed a police car parked on the side of the motorway, glanced in his side mirror, certain that it would come after him. He watched, drove, watched, glanced at the sleeping girl … and when he looked back one last time the police car had lurched onto the motorway, lights flashing and smoke clouding up the air behind it from screeching tires.
'Oh shit, here we go,' he muttered. He had not considered what he would do if it came down to this—not really—but he had the gun and it was still back on the seat beside him, waiting for Natasha. He could not let anything get in the way of that.
The police car was gaining rapidly. Cole considered trying to get away, but that would never happen. The longer the chase went on, the more reinforcements they would call. More cars, a helicopter, road blocks, and he would be a rat in a trap, unable to escape however determined he was, however big his gun. Best to confront them as quickly as possible, hand over the kid and … what? Kill two policemen? Shoot them in cold blood so that he could get away and, perhaps, finish what had started ten years ago?
'All for you,' he said to the baby's reflection. The image of the dead woman flashed before him again and he gasped, but this time it was only his own memory dredging up the filth Natasha had put before him. He pushed it from his mind and indicated to pull over onto the hard shoulder.
Maybe it'll go by, he thought, maybe they're after someone else, on another call. Maybe I'll be that lucky. But the patrol car slowed behind him and, lights still flashing, pulled over and parked twenty feet behind his car.
'Not long to go now,' he muttered. 'Not long and it'll all be over. The bitch will be dead and hopefully Lane and Sophia, too. Not long until the end of the day. End of the day.' He had to think quickly. He could see the two policemen as shadows in their car, one of them talking on the radio, checking registration number and—
And they'd know he had a gun.
'Why wait?' he said. He looked once more in the mirror at the sleeping baby, then threw open his door, grabbing the pistol as he went.
He walked quickly toward the patrol car, carrying the gun at his side and not yet aiming it. Last thing he wanted was some vigilante motorist deciding to nudge him into the ditch at eighty miles per hour, and brandishing a gun at a police car in broad daylight beside the motorway would be just the ticket.
The policemen kept their windows up. He didn't care. On the passenger side he shot out the front tire, took a few more steps, shot out the rear tire, and only then did he tap the barrel against the glass. The policeman's face was inches from the gun and he looked terrified, pale and sweating, his shirt sticking to his chest and shoulders.
'Open!' Cole shouted. He knew they could hear him. 'Open up now!' He turned the gun so that it was aiming straight through the glass. The policeman's eyes opened wide, as if trying to look far enough into the barrel to see the round that would kill him. 'Three seconds!' Cole shouted, and the door clicked open. Cole stepped back and motioned the man out. The policeman climbed from the car and kept his back against it, never once taking his eyes from the pistol.
'Driver, out this side,' Cole said.
'Where's the baby?' the driver asked. He climbed across the front seats and stood slowly next to his partner. He looked less shaken and more in control, and Cole knew that this was where his trouble could come from.
'In the car asleep,' he said. 'I didn't know she was in there when I took the car. Now listen, both of you. This has the potential to go very wrong, but I don't want it to. There's a simple rule for both of you to remember over the next couple of minutes, and if you do, everything will go down fine: I have a gun, and you don't.' The driver glanced down at the weapon briefly. The passenger's eyes never left it. 'You!' Cole said. The passenger looked up, eyes still wide. 'I want you to take off your radio, and your mate's, and stamp on them.'
'But—'
'Do as he says,' the driver said. 'He knows we've already called it in.' The passenger did so, crunching the radio attachments into the tarmac. He stood back against the car again, still hardly able to keep his eyes from the pistol aimed at his guts.
'This needs to go very smooth,' Cole said. 'Very, very smooth.'
'You don't look too good,' the driver said. 'You're bashed about, your eye's swollen shut, and you were limping.'
'It's been a bad day.'
'It needn't continue. If you just hand over—'
'I'm not in the fucking mood for this!' Cole said. He raised the gun, stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the .45 against the passenger's forehead, hard enough to leave an impression in the skin. The man pissed himself. It was more than Cole could have hoped for. 'Feels warm to start with, doesn't it?' he said. 'Warm and unpleasant. You'll smell it soon. And there's nothing like the feel of cold piss around your bollocks.'
'No need for that, son,' the driver said. 'This doesn't need to get ugly.'
'No, it doesn't,' Cole said. For one crazy moment his finger squeezed on the trigger. He imagined Roberts standing there before him instead of this unknown copper. He so wanted to put a bullet through the meddling fuck's brain, blast out all the bullshit he'd lived through these past twenty-four hours; Natasha invading his mind, the mockery, the two women he had killed, and the ghost of Lucy-Anne that Natasha had haunted him with.
Then he eased back, lowered the gun, sighed. 'You, go to the car and get the kid. Back door on this side,
