Kingdom: The Complete Series (31 page)

“
Survivors?
In that?”

“
My
guy's a tough son of a bitch, trust me. Now how long?”

“
Long
as it takes to cool. That's days, son. It'll hold that temperature for a long
time – look, I'm sorry, but if you had a man in there? Well, you don't anymore.
Nobody could survive that, and even if they could – we can't start digging
until the temperature drops.”

Trespasser One steps
away, putting his hands over his mask and bowing his head. He takes a breath
and sighs, activating his comms.

“
This
is Trespasser One to Command. I have some bad -”

“
Trespasser
One,”
Command's voice interrupts him.
“Mark just
activating the tracking in his helmet.”

Trespasser One stops
dead. “What?”

“
He's
moving fast, heading down the Clyde via the roads. We're sending you a chopper
to intercept.”

“
Where's
he going? Do you have comms?”

“
No
comms, just tracking.”

“
Son
of a bitch,” the Trespasser says, sprinting away from the scene to somewhere
that the chopper can pick him up. “He must want us to follow him. If he's found
the King...”

“
He
isn't moving at his usual speed – we think he's in a car.”

“
Then
the bastards must have gotten to him somehow – there's a high chance he's in
trouble. Get the rest of my squad into a chopper and await my command. Maybe
he's activated it for help.”

“
Trespasser
One, arrival is in four hours.”

“
Four
hours is more than enough time, now get me my squad and get me that chopper,
Command.”

“
Trespasser
One, your orders are to -”

“
Do
you remember what happened when the last Command tried to give me orders like
that, sir? Do you? Discipline me later if you have to, but I won't leave a man
in trouble. I'm going after Mark.”

“
Don't
miss the arrival, Trespasser One,”
says Command.
“You
have four hours.”

“
More
than enough.”

Trespasser One leaves,
running away from where Mark lies beneath the rubble, slowly boiling in his own
skin.

Episode
7

Bait

Gregor wakes up in a
cold concrete cell.

He sits up, alarmed,
and two men wearing the uniforms of fire-fighters put their hands on his chest,
calming him.

“
Relax,
sir,” says the largest one. “We're in the prison.”

He takes a breath and
almost lets himself loose, and then his face twists up in alarm again. Before
he can ask, the fire-fighter raises his hand again.

“
The
plan worked – the fire. We got the bastard.”

“
His
helmet, too?”

“
Yeah,
it's been broadcasting for the last twenty minutes. They'll be coming.”

Gregor nods, taking
this in. He tries to sit up and grimaces, clutching his chest.

“
You
ok, sir?”

“
My
chest,” he grunts. “He hit me, didn't he?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Might
have broken a rib,” says Gregor, clenching his teeth. Spittle flies from his
mouth as he speaks. “Do we have control of the prison?”

“
See
for yourself,” says one of the men, and offers him a hand.

Gregor waves him away
and wrestles himself to the edge of the cot. He stands, grunting in pain,
leaning to one side. The piss-stained coat is still wrapped around him; he
shrugs it off in disgust and screws his nose up. Pushing the men aside, he
leaves the cell.

Gregor marvels at what
he sees. The cell doors all lie open; the bottom floor is filled with men in
orange jumpsuits. One of the King's men stands atop a dining table, passing out
weapons and orders.

Lining up like refugees
at an aid truck, they take the wrenches, claw hammers, and knives as they are
passed out. The lucky ones are given pistols and shotguns from the numerous
guards that lie prone across the prison floor; their bodies broken, their eyes
blank.

“
How
did they do it?” asks Gregor, turning.

“
Our
man in the office opened all of the gates at once, and killed every guard in
the security room. He locked the door, and before anybody could get in and stop
him – well. The prisoners were loose and none of the doors would close. It was
over fairly quickly.”

“
No
guards left?”

“
None,
sir. We brought in a van full of whatever weapons we could find. Bit of
overkill if you ask me.”

“
Overkill?”
asks Gregor. “Have you ever fought a Trespasser?” The fireman shakes his head.
“Exactly. If we're lucky, the super-humans will come for their friend. If we're
unlucky, they'll send a Trespasser squad in. Either way, there's no such thing
as overkill.”

Gregor watches as the
prisoners file away into the various parts of the prison, each with their
orders etched into their mind.

“
These
men,” says Gregor, talking to himself now. “All of them are the King's men?”

“
Yes,
sir.”

“
I
trust you all to see this through,” he says, turning. “If you'll excuse me, the
arrival is due in -” he checks his watch, “almost three and a half hours. I
have to be with the King for this. Could one of you take me to a vehicle?”

“
Of
course, sir.”

“
Thank
you – and men?”

“
Yes,
sir?”

“
Don't
take any chances. The plan depends on the King controlling the people affected
by the arrival. To do that, we need the Agency to be occupied up here – or
better yet, neutralised. Everything depends on your actions here, do you
understand?”

“
Yes,
sir,” the two firemen chorus, and one of them steps forward. “I'll take you to
your vehicle now, sir.”

“
Thank
you.”

The helicopter is
crowded, and the passengers are tilted sideways as the helicopter races
forward, nose-down, following the banks of the River Clyde.  Jamie stares into
the distance, ignoring the rest of the squad, his mind elsewhere.

“
Mark's
signal is in that new prison in Dumbarton, which makes perfect sense,” shouts
the Trespasser, his voice coming through their helmets. “The prison was
constructed to house the huge number of convicts awaiting trial after the
exposure of the Kingdom project. It was supposed to be temporary. It's full of
the King's men, and we haven't been able to contact any staff or guards within
the last fifteen minutes. It's safe to assume that the prison is now in the
hands of the King.”

Trespasser One pans his
eyes around the inside of the helicopter. His squad are silent, their masks
down to hide their expressions. Two other Trespassers – a tall, well built
American soldier and the female Londoner with the cold blue eyes – stand at the
back of the helicopter, rifles ready, masks on.

“
Ok,
here's the plan. We assault the prison; expect resistance before we even touch
down. Trespasser's Two and Three,” he nods to the other soldiers at the back.
“You're with me, I'll take point myself. You know the drill. Command has
authorised lethal force, no questions asked. The rest of you will stay with the
helicopter and the pilot will keep his distance. We'll radio for you to come in
and pick us up once we have Mark.”

One of the masked
figures looks up, and the Trespasser tenses himself. It's Jamie, looking right
at him.

“
I'm
coming with you,” he says. It's not a question.

“
Jamie,
you're not trained like we are -”

“
I
wasn't asking, Trespasser.”

The Trespasser
considers pulling rank on him, but realises how futile it would.

“
You
know I can't give you a gun, then?”

“
I
didn't ask you to.” Jamie's voice is cold, empty. He stops talking, staring
into space with his hands clasped in front of him.

“
We
want to come as well,” says Stacy, leaning forward out of her seat.

Cathy pushes her back.
“Come on lass, this is a job for the professionals.”

“
No;
Mark's a good guy. If they're doing god-knows-what to him in that prison then I
want to go too.”

The Trespasser shakes
his head. “Jamie has seen combat before, and proven himself. You haven't. We
can't risk losing you guys, not this soon before the arrival. You stay with the
helicopter.”

Stacy folds her arms
and glowers by herself, her small frame giving off a brooding, heated anger.

The pilot's voice comes
through their comms units:

“
We're
here. I'll set you down in the courtyard. If comms go down, I'll pick you up
here in fifteen minutes, got it?”

“
Understood,
pilot.”

“
Touchdown
in thirty seconds, get ready.”

The Trespasser takes
his pistol from his belt and drops the magazine, checking that it's full and
not about to jam. Satisfied, he pushes the magazine back up into the handle and
racks the slide, loading a round. He flicks the safety off and holds the pistol
ready in both hands, his left hand cupping his right like a glove to hold his
aim steady.

Trespasser's Two and
Three join him at the front, and Jamie stands up and wrings his hands as he
waits.

The helicopter touches
down without stopping its engines, and the ramp at the back slams to the ground
with a clang. Evening twilight and the purple glow of dusk streak across the
courtyard.

Trespasser One shouts
the order and leads the charge down the ramp, crossing the prison courtyard and
storming towards the heavy metal doors of the red brick building.

The courtyard is
silent. They stand one behind the other at the wall and the Trespasser shouts:

“
Breach.”

He slams a small explosive
against the door handle. It detonates in a cloud of smoke the door swings open;
he throws a stun grenade in and it goes off like a thunderclap.

He motions to move in
and the squad follow him through the door, into the silent darkness.

The rest of the squad
sit in the back of the helicopter, waiting. It begins to lift off; then the
engines stutter and cough, and the craft drifts back down to the concrete
courtyard.

“
Hold
on,”
the pilot's voice comes through their helmets.
“I'm having some engine problems.”

The engines cut out.
Slowing like a broken record, the blades grind to a halt as the helicopter
touches down.

“
What's
happening?” asks Cathy, panic shaking her voice. “Why aren't we flying, what's
wrong?”

“
Uh,
guys?” asks Gary, nodding to Stacy. She has her head in her hands, shaking in
concentration. “Stace?” He reaches out to touch her and Cathy grabs his hand,
stopping him.

“
Leave
her, she's concentrating.”

“
If
you think,” says Stacy, groaning with effort, breathing hard, “that I'm leaving
my friend behind -”

The helicopter's lights
go out and the ramp opens.

“
Stacy,
stop it,” Cathy urges her. “Let the pilot take off, it's too dangerous.”

“
Exactly,”
she says, undoing her own harness and standing up. She stumbles to the side and
Donald catches her, noting that her armband has flashed to orange. “You don't
leave your mates in the shit. Run away if you want.”

She pushes Donald away
and staggers towards the ramp, hands out for balance.

“
Bugger
this,” says Gary, unclipping as he runs after her. “I can't let her go alone.”

“
Oh
for the love of - “ sighs Donald, following them.

“
Guys,”
Cathy begs. “We can't, we have orders.”

“
They're
barely adults, Cathy,” says Donald. “I can't stand back and let them go alone.”

Cathy tries to protest,
but something in Donald's voice makes her throw her hands up and follow him
down the ramp.

“
Come
back for us soon,” Cathy tells the pilot, and lets Donald lead her down the
ramp. Together, the rest of the squad head across the courtyard, into the
prison.

Trespasser One leads
the first squad into the second wing, this one as devoid of life as the first.
Jamie drifts behind them like a ghost.

They pace through it,
guns raised, ready for anything. His eyes scan over the bottom floor, then the
upper floor. Every cell is empty: the only bodies are those of the guards. They
push through the silence, into the last wing.

“
Mark
should be -” the Trespasser stops, checking his tracker. He whips around,
pointing his pistol into an empty cell with it's barred doors lying open. “It
says he's in here.”

He turns and stops
dead.

The squad come to a
halt in the middle of the empty wing as they see what he is looking at. A
single black helmet, the kind worn by the Trespasser squad, lies in the middle
of the floor.

“
Where
is he?” asks Jamie, his voice beginning to break. “Where's Mark?”

“
He's
not here,” says the Trespasser. “They knew we'd follow the tracker in his
helmet. It's a trap.”

A metallic rattling
makes them stop, and too late they realise what the sound is.

The rattling stops with
a clang.

Trespasser One turns
around: the door behind them has closed over. The other door at the far side of
the wing has slammed shut.

The sound of a hundred
footsteps tramping in unison fills the wing.

“
It's
a bloody trap,” repeats the Trespasser, louder this time.

He turns with the rest
of them to see the crowd emerge.

“
Contact,”
shouts the woman, and raises her assault rifle.

Jamie watches as the
orange horde comes around the corners, spilling from the gaps like a plague of
rats. They are all – every one of them – smiling as they march towards the
squad.

Some of them start to
clang their weapons – their wrenches, tire irons and lead pipes – against the
prison bars that recently held them, whilst others stamp their feet and hoot.
The squad starts to move backwards as the horde advances, a wall of jumpsuits
and blunt weaponry.

“
Orders?”
asks Trespasser Two.

“
On
my count, close your eyes. Cut through to the second door.”