Reaper's Legacy

again, this time imbuing them with Reaper’s power.

Behind the counter, cobwebbed keys jangled on their hooks, and dust rose from the lobby carpet. The building itself seemed to grumble, and everyone froze.

With a grunt, Jenna shoved Fleeter away. Sparky glared at the woman, and Reaper watched them all with a humourless smile.

“What Jenna said,” Jack said. “We don’t kill anyone. We need a distraction, then Fleeter and I go in and take the girl. Bring her out. Show them what we can do right under their noses, and that to stand against us will be hopeless.”

“Even if there’s forty of them?” Sparky said. “Eighty? A hundred?”

“They’re ants,” Reaper said.

“Ants with machine guns!”

“We’ll force a stalemate,” Jack said. “They’ve got a perfect hiding place, but it’ll go against them as well. They might know the area, but they can’t see around corners.”

“And you can?” Breezer asked.

Jack shrugged. He hadn’t tried. “With the talents we have here, we can find our way in. And it’s the best way. If what we’re doing here is actually going to help anyone, we have to move on. Them picking up Irregulars and hunting for…” He nodded at Reaper and Fleeter. “And you killing them whenever you can. If any sort of progress is to be made, the killing has to stop. Here and now.”

“Progress,” Reaper said slowly, as if tasting the word.

“I’ll be your distraction,” Sparky said.

“Me too.” Jenna turned her back on Fleeter and faced Jack. “And maybe Breezer and a couple of his people can help.”

Reaper grunted in agreement.

Jack experienced a sudden, overwhelming sense of familiarity—the way his father stood with his hands behind his back, the brush of his hair, the shadow of weak light falling across his cheek and chin. He wanted to go to him and hug him, squeeze away the last two years and tell him how much he loved him, and how much they all needed him.

“And if the distraction fails,” Reaper said, “we’ll be waiting to mop up the pieces.”

“It won’t fail,” Jack said. But the fragility of their alliance was already obvious. Reaper and his people seemed almost flippant in their confidence, and there was no telling what their real aims and ambitions were. Reaper had left Miller alive because he amused him. Like a cat leaving a mouse to play with the next day.

And yet Jack was certain that there were underlying insecurities that he had yet to find. If not, why did Reaper not rule London?

And why was he even still here?

He sighed, and thought of his mother and Emily.

They slowly drew together with the others. One of the women with Breezer could communicate in a basic way with her mind, sending hints and urges rather than words. She liaised their meeting point, and long before they got there, Jack and his friends saw the huge area of stacked containers.

It was almost beautiful. The rectangular metal containers came in an array of colours—yellow, green, rusty red, cream, varying shades of blue. There seemed to be no design to how they were stacked, and the mess of colours was busy and pleasing to the eye. But knowing what lay within the container park gave it a sinister edge.

This was where Miller and his Choppers operated from. A place of imprisonment and cruelty. A place of chopping to see what made London’s survivors—the New—able to do the amazing things they could. He probed inward and reached out, but he was not able to see far into the maze of containers. It was confused. He wasn’t sure why, but his senses were flooded with input from all around, like splashes of colour and light on a dark background. Thousands of containers filled with millions of items. Perhaps they all meant something to someone —all bearing distinct, deep histories—and that concentration of meaning was confusing his talents.

They crossed a wide spread of concrete and approached the first of the containers, watching out for movement. Breezer and his people emerged from behind one of the metal boxes where they had been waiting, and without a word they joined forces. It was a significant moment, marked by no more than a glance between Reaper and Breezer. Both men hid their thoughts.

The Choppers already knew they were there. Of course they did. They had the girl working for them. But this time the advantage belonged to the New.

Jack and Fleeter held back at the tail end of the group as they moved into a shadowy passageway between container piles. The route quickly became as wide as one of London’s streets—wide enough for container trucks and mobile cranes, Jack guessed. Sparky and Jenna led, with Breezer and the three Irregulars just behind them. Puppeteer followed, to the side and slightly apart. Reaper had vanished, advancing from elsewhere, and Jack knew that others would be with him—Shade, Scryer, and more.

So these are the New, Jack thought, and a tingle ran down his spine. Tense though this moment was, it was also painfully exciting. He had seen more death and murder than anyone his age should ever see, and he hoped that this might be the first step beyond that.

But he also knew that grudges ran white-hot. The slightest mistake could push one side or the other over the precipice.

After ten minutes wending their way between piled metal containers, Fleeter grabbed his arm and pulled him close. The others paused as well, watching expectantly.

“The open area is around the next junction,” she said, nodding at where two routes met a hundred yards ahead.

“The air’s loaded,” Jack said. “Tense.”

“Don’t need Spidey senses to feel that,” Sparky muttered.

“They’ll have guards,” Jenna said.

“And the sharpshooters I told you about,” Fleeter whispered, pointing up.

“Come on,” Jack said. “Fleeter and I will get out of sight while you move on. But…”

“Of course we’ll be careful,” Sparky said

Jenna nodded. “I’ll look after him.”

Jack watched his friends moving away from him, and the sinking feeling could only have been dread.

Fleeter grabbed his hand and pulled, edging into a much narrower gap. Then she started to climb. He followed, glancing up and then looking away, embarrassed, when he realised he could see up her short skirt. He heard her chuckling above him, and he concentrated on handholds and footholds. In places it was easy, and elsewhere he had to prop himself across the gap and edge upwards an inch at a time. After a few minutes Fleeter’s hand reached down and helped haul him up, and they emerged into sunlight.

Jack rolled onto his stomach and looked around. They’d climbed four containers, and around them many were stacked only two or three high. Fleeter pressed her finger to her lips and pointed, and thirty yards away Jack could see someone lying on a lower box, rifle resting before them. They had one hand pressed to their ear, listening to some sort of communicator. Binoculars sat beside them. Fleeter gesticulated “wanker,” then nodded in the opposite direction. To the east the wide, open area where there were no units at all was obvious. They crawled across the roof of the container, keeping as low as possible, and looked down onto a large expanse of concrete.

There were several Chopper vehicles parked there, Land Rovers and a few of the powerful motorbikes they’d seen only recently. People rushed around, weapons on display. They exuded an aura of confidence. Good, Jack thought. We’ll soon change that.

Fleeter tapped his arm and pointed. Across the other side of the open area, which must have been the size of a football pitch, several metal containers seemed somehow out of place. They’d been placed side to side in two distinct arrangements, one consisting of four units, the other three. Electrical cable was strung around them, and around them were the signs of a well-used compound. Oil drums were stacked beside one, pallets held plastic containers of food and water. Spare tyres, a row of portable toilets, stacked bags of rubbish, and there were even several large, open tents.

They’re settled, Jack thought. Safe. At ease. He could not hold back the smile. And then from below, a shouted warning.