INK: Red (INK Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

"And when we got out the alley, then came in here, were we getting closer or further away? I know it wasn't very far, but... Um, are we safe?"

Oh boy.

"Honestly? I don't know. I got caught up with Bob here and didn't think about it. But you're right, I should have thought of it. And we came closer to them, not further away. Not much, but a bit."

"So we need to go?"

"Yes, we do."

"And Bob?"

"Well, Bob better wake up real fast, as otherwise he'll have to stay here. If they find us then he's dead anyway, and we can't carry him around." Edsel looked at Aiden but the boy seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "Right, let's take a look at this silly old bugger then."

Edsel walked carefully over to Bob, now naked from the waist up once again, his skin red and a mess of raised welts, cracks, random eruptions where it had reacted in strange ways — cuts across his belly and arms. The contrast between the tattooed areas and the pale skin from his neck upwards made him look like a painted mannequin, or a man wearing a Halloween costume — one that really would scare the kids.

"Can you do anything? You know, through The Noise?"

"I don't think so, not really. Maybe make him walk a few steps, not much more."

"Okay, no point in doing that. Especially as I assume it will make you hungry?"

Aiden nodded.

They waited, and they waited some more. Edsel got more and more jittery; Aiden kept looking at his watch. Both glanced continually out of the window, or walked around nervously, but it was no use — they would have to go.

"Okay, that's enough," said Edsel. "We're going to have to leave him. I know it's hard but I can't see a way out unless we just wait for him to wake up. Come on."

Aiden put his backpack on, and Edsel did the same even though it sent his back into spasms and the synthetic material rubbed the flesh raw in an instant. Once again it was the shoulders that were the worst.

I can't seem to keep a shirt on to save my life. If this was a movie I'd at least have huge muscles and be all buff.

"I guess we will have to— Ssh, quiet? Did you hear that?" Edsel's voice dropped to a whisper.

Aiden nodded, and made a walking motion with his fingers, nodding in the direction of the stairs.

Wish Bob had actually had cartridges for his shotgun instead of bluffing. Daft bugger.

Edsel pulled the poker out from his backpack, and Aiden pulled out a long knife that Bob had given him. It glinted evilly in the low light, but Aiden was less of a fighter than Edsel. Twelve was not an age that you became an experienced knife fighter, Edsel had said, when Bob gave him the knife. Bob had said that he knew that, but better to stand a chance, rather than no chance at all, if it came down to needing it.

They crouched down low so they were hidden by the counter, and Edsel whispered instructions to Aiden.

As quietly as possible, they crept over to the door that led to the corridor and stood either side of it, Edsel on the side where anyone would come through. He pulled the knife he had stashed from the lake out of a pocket in the backpack and swapped so the poker was in his left hand.

They got ready.

Muffled sounds came from the other side of the door; Aiden signaled 'one' with his finger. Edsel nodded and got ready.

Well, this is going to be either one less of them or two less of us. Three if they bother with Bob.

The door banged open, smacking into Aiden, and Edsel struck out fast and hard. The knife went in deep with a sickening squelch and he pulled it out quickly. A man in his forties, wearing a still relatively uncommon acolyte's blood-red robe, grabbed at his belly, and as he bent over Edsel swapped his weapons around and swung hard one-handed with the poker at the man's head. The strike was off, but it caught the man on the temple and scraped past his eyes, sending him reeling back into the corridor, screaming and clutching first at his face then at his belly.

Edsel ran forward fast, leaping onto the man whose knife had been dropped the second he was stabbed, jabbing down hard with his wrong hand at the man's throat. The knife went in awkwardly but the man stopped screaming instantly, and as blood spouted from the severed carotid Aiden came up behind; they both watched transfixed as the life ebbed out of the man.

He was dead.

That's it? Just like that? A person wiped out, gone forever.

It seemed too quick. Not easy, but surely such a heinous crime should be more visceral?

"Okay, let's go. Get to the end of the corridor, see if you sense anyone, if not go down and do the same again. Okay?"

Aiden nodded, skirting around the man, trying not to step in the huge pool of blood that was already soaking into the beer-stained carpet. Edsel stepped back to the doorway, grabbed the knife and put it into the backpack, then caught up with Aiden. "Anything?"

"No, nothing. All clear."

"Okay, let's go down together."

They descended the steps in the dark; the door was closed at the entrance to the alley.

SUN

The alley was clear. Edsel couldn't see anyone, and Aiden said that he couldn't sense a soul, so they made their way back out the way they had come, moving fast as there was no doubt the man that had found them would be missed soon enough. The alley was an assault on the nostrils — the day was warming up and with it the stench was rising.

I can't believe I stayed living here for so long. How could I ignore the stink?

Edsel grew nervous as they got out of the shade of the alley: he knew what was coming.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." He gritted his teeth, but the pain flared up into impossible new heights. The sun on his skin was pure agony; it felt like every single needle that had injected The Ink into his body, in the countless thousands of places, was erupting in the sunlight, spouting out its foul liquid right through his skin and bursting into flame, burning as hot as the bright orange orb in the sky.

"You okay?" said Aiden with concern. "You look terrible. Your skin's getting redder. I didn't think that would be possible," he added helpfully.

"I know, I know. It's the sun, it's burning me like crazy. Over there, quick." Edsel pointed to a shaded area across from the alley, a place where a few cars were parked neatly, as if the owners had turned up for work that morning.

"Aah, that's better." Once in the shade his skin immediately began to stop screaming at him quite as loudly. "Right, we are still on track for the plan, we just need... damn, we forgot Bob's backpack. Should have brought it with us."

"Shall we go back?" asked a worried looking Aiden.

"No, it's not worth the risk. The Eventuals could be here any minute. We need to keep moving, keep them from getting our location pinpointed. Are you sure you want to do this? I can take you back to Bob's place, you can lay low until I come get you."

"If you come get me," said Aiden grimly. "But no, I'm staying with you."

"Okay buddy, let's get to it then. You know this is going to be nasty, right?" Aiden nodded. "Okay. Just try not to look if you possibly can, but these guys have to be stopped. You understand that? The things they do, it can't be left, they have to pay. Let's go."

Who am I kidding? This is personal and nothing more. It's for me, so maybe I can sleep at night somewhere down the line. Sleep alone.

They made their way across the back streets, heading right towards the small church where the Manchester Ward of The Eventuals were based — their numbers growing daily as more people gave up what little hope they had been clinging to.

Although Edsel would have preferred it for Aiden to stay away, the truth was that he was invaluable as an ally. He could sense others if he focused, meaning that as they made their way slowly but surely into the lion's den Edsel at least knew when it was safe to proceed. But conversely, any Awoken Eventuals would feel them approaching too, and these were men who may have a lot more experience of their Awoken states — Aiden was a boy of twelve and very scared, although he was doing amazingly well, there was no denying it.

They made their way closer.

This is like the absolute opposite of what any sane person would do. Am I thinking straight? This is suicide. Is that what I want?

The small church was on a relatively quiet back street, surrounded by other streets just like it. They intersected at junctions, curved around to meet with once busy thoroughfares, with a few cul-de-sacs mixed in too. An urban sprawl with little in the way of rhyme or reason as far as Edsel could see, when he'd studied the map of this part of the city. But at least it gave them opportunities and alternate routes as they made their way closer to the church.

Moving fast, and trying to stay in the shade as much as possible, they got closer street by street. Now they were well within the half-mile radius that seemed to be the tipping point for many Awoken to sense others, so adrenaline was pumping hard and Edsel could see Aiden's nerves were fraying the closer they got. The boy was locked in a frown of concentration, trying to direct them in the best way to keep them from being seen. The chance of there being any Awoken near was remote, as they would be spread all over the city looking for new recruits, seeking out those with nothing to lose — shining brightly in The Noise like beacons of vulnerability and despair. Easy pickings.

They crossed a quiet street and went down the side of a semi-detached house, through the garden and out into a small piece of scrub land, full of the junk of years. Pile after pile of refuse, discarded furniture and countless other abandoned household items.

Aiden put a hand to Edsel's shoulder delicately and whispered that there was a man to their right, somewhere on the street they were heading for. With a nod, Edsel signaled he understood and whispered for Aiden to stay put and wait for him to return. Aiden looked worried, but agreed with a reluctant hint of a smile. The weather was really hotting up, the air was heavy and silent, as if holding its breath to see what would happen, burning Edsel into action, making it impossible for him to stay out in the open.

Insects buzzed around the few tufts of grass and weeds trying to survive amid the junk, teasing Edsel, landing on his skin, daring him to try to swat at them. His seeping sores were a magnet for the creatures; he had to go.

Edsel went to hunt a man for the first time in his life.

~~~

He crept through the detritus of modern society, careful to avoid the trash, the bicycles, old mattresses and wardrobes; a small patch of the city that had become a dumping ground when there was no other option. The heat pricked him as the sun came out from behind a wisp of cloud — relief that had lasted mere seconds — and the sweat fizzled to the surface again. The insects got busy, becoming more and more animated at the welcome intrusion. His skin was slick yet dry at the same time, itching as the scabs tightened in the heat, the red shining like the stop sign on the traffic lights that once controlled the flow of vehicles around the busy metropolis.

Like this isn't stressful enough, now I have to deal with these damn flies. Ugh, geddof me, leave me alone.

Edsel found it nigh on impossible not to slap his skin, the torture escalating to new heights, mocking him as he tried to make his way through the reminder of all that was lost.

Finally, he made it to the glorious shade at the side of a row of houses, and skirted to the end of the row so he could get out to the front and find his quarry.

I'm a bloody stalker. I'm hunting a man, this is insane.

There he was, a man as red as him, yet clothed, only hands and head showing The Ink. He was going from door to door, checking manually for anyone hiding out so close to the church. He looked bored, like it was a daily patrol and he'd done it countless times before.

Probably just a simple duty he has to do, just to check the area is clear around the church.

As the man went into a house, Edsel ran down the street and went through the open gate and stood to the side of the bright green front door. He could hear the man stomping loudly up the stairs, hear doors being flung open, the house checked for occupancy.

Bet he doesn't even bother looking really, just doing his patrol as those are his orders.

Edsel stepped inside, pushing the door closed quietly behind him, flipping the latch so it locked.

Payback.

He heard the man coming down the stairs, clearly unconcerned about declaring his presence. Edsel moved into the kitchen; he hid behind the open door and waited. The footsteps got closer; Edsel held his knife in his right hand and tried to stop his heart hammering in his chest. Surely the man could hear it? It beat louder than a drum.

Get ready, get ready. No fear, just do it. Like in the pub, don't think, just act.

Edsel's heart hammered louder and louder, the blood pumping so fast it was making his ears pound. His head throbbed like an inflating balloon.

The man was in the kitchen, just inside the doorway, quickly scanning the room. Edsel focused on the red skin at the nape of the man's neck and lunged silently with the knife. It buried deep, just to the side of bone. Edsel's hand was soaked in blood in an instant, and the man fell to the floor as he let go of the knife. Edsel crouched quickly and went to pull it out — it was surprisingly hard to reclaim and he had to put a foot onto the man's back for purchase. Knife retrieved, he rolled him over. He was dead.

Just like that? So quick, so easy. It isn't right.

It felt wrong, like life shouldn't be so simple to take. Was it really so easy to kill a man? Just a quick stab and you had taken a life, on purpose, fully aware of what you intended? Shouldn't it take more than that? It felt the same as in the pub, as if there should be a banging of drums, a crashing of cymbals, the Grim Reaper himself appearing, a bolt of lightning coming down, declaring the gravity of such an event.