Kingdom: The Complete Series (59 page)

Mark steadies himself;
the more he focuses, the faster he goes. The moonlight blows away the doubt,
and he soars.

Up here, with nothing
to get in the way, he can see every star in the sky above him; he can see the
arm of the Milky Way as he climbs higher, going faster still.

His mind falters
momentarily as he takes in the stars: where the Protector and the Destroyer
came from, where his power came from – and in less than twenty-four hours he's
going to try and send the King back there.

The King.

His fear creeps back,
and he slows. The clouds look like an ocean of their own from this high up, and
even Mark can feel the cold creeping through his armour. Wind and frost sting at
his skin like tiny needles, trying to tear his cape off.

The King.

He can see his face in
the stars. It all seems so impossible now, so far away.

Mark closes his eyes
and slows, his arms by his side and his hands clenched into fists with effort.
He tries to bring his mind back, to let the fear drop away like weights, but it
wraps itself around him like strangling vines that choke his power.

He slows and stutters
to a stop like a broken engine.

“
No,”
he whispers, “no, no,
shit -”

His nose sputters blood,
and he begins to fall away from the stars.

Clawing at the sky,
Mark falls.

The flaw in his
training plan becomes apparent as he accelerates towards the ground, panic
blinding his focus. Going this fast, he'll go so far down into the waiting
ocean that he might not make it back up again.

Fear fills his head as
the clouds race up to greet him. Flight won't come to him, he's flailing and
clawing at the air trying to stop but he's only falling faster.

The clouds streak past
him, soaking him, and the glistening ocean beckons him home far below.

Mark stares down at his
death – worse still, he stares at his own failure.

Too drunk to save the
world.

“
Hey,
is that Mark?”

Stacy points to a
plummeting shape in the darkness, visible only by the sparkling gold of his
cape.

“
He's
in free-fall,” says Jamie. “Start the boat! He's going into the water -”

“
He
has a life-jacket,” says the Trespasser.

“
And
how far down is he going to sink before it gets him to the surface?”

The Trespasser endures
a silent second of thought, and then sprints for the back of the boat. Stacy
starts the engine with a tweak of her mind before he even gets there. Erupting
like gunfire, the engine spurs them forward, skipping over the waves.

The ocean hits Mark
like a train, knocking the wind from his lungs and bending his armour out of
shape. His cape wraps around him, blinding him, and his mouth fills with water
when he tries to scream. Like an air-bag, the life-jacket inflates – it
struggles for a minute, but Mark keeps sinking, speeding up.

Cold, icy weights rest
on Mark's chest, and though he claws and punches at the water all around him,
the bitter taste of salt and blood overpowers him.

He's sinking, fast.

Struggling spluttering,
he feels the ice growing inside him. The fire is dying, sizzling and fading to
nothing. Barely a spark remains when Mark claws the cape from his eyes, and
sees what little light of the moon can break through the water.

The waves break up the
beams, and for a hopeful moment he wonders if it's a torch, a searchlight
trying to find him.

But it's not.

The ocean starts to
pull him down, more weight pressing on him every second. He sinks as though a
great hand is wrenching him downwards.

Mark's numb fingers
clasp around the flask on his belt, and as the darkness sets in and the light
above him dies, he expels the last of the air from his body, wraps his lips
around the open flask, and tries to inhale the whiskey.

Jamie leans over the
edge of the boat.

“
Mark?”
he shouts into the darkness. “Mark!”

Trespasser One shines a
tactical light from his shotgun over the edge, scanning it over the waves.

“
He
definitely fell around here somewhere,” says Stacy. “I could sense the phone in
his pocket until he hit the water.”

Jamie takes off his
jacket, tossing it aside and ripping his facemask off.

“
Donald,
be ready in case he's hurt,” he shouts, and clambers onto the edge of the boat.

“
Wait,
Jamie -” begins Stacy. “Don't get yourself -”

Jamie dives into the
water.

The protests of his
squad fade into silence above him, and the frozen shock of the ocean stuns his
muscles. Everything hurts, and he's already running out of breath. His open
eyes see nothing, just the endless abyss of the ocean stretching down before
him.

He curses, and the
bubbles float away and dissipate, carrying his anger with them. When he
surfaces, he gasps for air and tries to work his frozen muscles. Already the
boat is drifting away from him.

Trespasser One's light
shines on him, blinding him. Seconds later, over the shouting and clamouring, a
life ring lands in the water nearby, and he clings onto it and lets his squad
drag him in.

They grab his armour
and pull him over the edge of the boat with a wet thud, shivering
uncontrollably.

“
L-Let
me up,” he stutters. “I just need a breath. I'll go back in.”

“
You're
going to die of hypothermia lad,” whispers Donald, trying to hold him back from
the edge of the boat.

“
I
won't let him drown, Don,” shouts Jamie. “Maybe I can stop time and -”

They all stop as they
hear it.

A rumbling, bubbling,
like -

Crash.

A blue and gold missile
streaks out from the surface of the water, a boiling geyser of froth and foam
exploding with it. They all look up, the relieved grins fading from their faces
when they see Mark flailing, helpless in mid air, already falling.

“
Gary,
catch him,” orders Trespasser One, and as Mark begins to fall a blue ball of
light folds around him in mid air.

Gary rests a hand on
his forehead and focuses, bringing Mark on his makeshift stretcher back down to
the waiting boat. When the forcefield dissolves, Mark's limp body drops out
with a heavy bang, and Donald drops to his side along with the squad.

“
He's
not breathing,” says Donald, running his hand over Mark's bare neck. “Swallowed
a lot of water. I can – wait -” He closes his eyes, focusing. “There,” he whispers.

Water explodes out of
Mark's mouth, showering them all in salty bile. Spluttering and coughing, Mark
retches and leans over to one side.

Jamie leans back,
relieved, running his hands through his soaking, freezing hair.

Both him and the
Trespasser look at each other, shaking their heads.

“
We
need a new plan,” says Trespasser One.

“
To
kill the King?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Then
we'd best get thinking.”

“
I
know,” he says. “We've got less than sixteen hours left.”

“
Guys,”
says Stacy, still holding Mark as he brings up more water. “Guys, what if we
don't stop the King just yet? What if we focus on stopping the nuke instead?”

“
Neutron
-”

“
Shut
up Tony,” she snaps. “It drops tomorrow. If Mark can get me high up enough to
where they drop the bomb, I can deactivate it with my power.”

“
That
doesn't fix our problem,” says Jamie.

“
We
need to prioritise. It buys us time. Time for this guy,” she gestures to Mark,
“to learn to fly well enough to do – well, whatever it is you guys are keeping
secret from us.”

Mark wipes his mouth
and shakes his head, getting to his knees with a groan.

“
She's
right,” he says. “We have to stop the nuke.”

“
Ok,”
says Trespasser One. “Someone get Jamie a bloody blanket and phone Chloe to get
our stuff ready. We'll need a solid plan.”

Stacy starts the engine
without moving, and turns the boat. “I've got this,” she says, “just keep me
going in the right direction.”

“
Thanks
Stace,” says the Trespasser, patting her shoulder.

As she focuses on
pushing the boat's engine on with her mind, her hand finds Mark's deathly cold
fingers – Mark can barely feel them, but the little warmth she gives off is
like an explosion. With any strength he has left, he squeezes her hand, and she
squeezes back.

Looking over at him,
she squints through the spray from the boat's edge.

“
You
ok?” she whispers.

He nods. “Sorry.”

“
For
what?”

“
Letting
you all down.”

“
You
nearly died,” she says. “Shut up. We'll stop him eventually. For now you'll
just have to settle for saving Glasgow, eh?”

Mark says nothing. He
unscrews his second flask and brings it to his lips, gazing out into the
darkness as he pours the whiskey through his teeth.

“
Mark?”
she asks.

“
It's
not just Glasgow,” he turns back to her, pushing his wet hair out of his face,
wincing as the whiskey hits him. “The King won't stop at Glasgow.”

“
Well
that's that then,” she says, forcing a cheerful tone. “When the time comes,
you'll just have to save the
world
again.”

“
Yeah,”
he murmurs, and turns back to the ocean, drinking again.

Final
Episode

Seven
Miles Per Second

It's two hours before
the dawn of the third day, and the sky begins to lighten. The stars fade out
and the clouds part; birds are singing already, the first ones awake. A single
figure in a dark navy suit strolls the streets of Glasgow on his own, relishing
the solitude. With his arms spread wide to the sky, he grins and takes a deep
breath.

The King watches the
skyline from the streets outside his offices – his throne room, rather – and
waits for the first slithers of sunlight. First light: when the Agency intend
to drop a nuclear bomb on him.

Looking up to the sky,
the King smiles at the satellites that he expects will be watching, a smug and
knowing grin.

He puts his hands in
his pockets, bringing one out to check his watch every few minutes. There he
stands, waiting for the sun to rise, with all the confidence of a man who
cannot be killed; and wants to prove it.

The squad leave the
bunker in their Trespasser armour, all painted different tints to keep them
apart, and Chloe in her winter coat. At the front, chest puffed out and head
held high, is the Trespasser himself, shotgun held in his arms as he walks into
the misty early morning streets. He turns to the squad.

“
The
Agency said they'd strike at first light. In Agency-speak, that's about twenty
minutes from now. We stick to the plan, is everybody clear on their orders?”

He looks around at
them, only their eyes visible through their masks – apart from Mark, in his
royal blue and gold, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped.

They all murmur in
agreement.

“
Good.
Jamie, Cath, Gary, Donald, and Chloe: you're with me. We'll stay in the city
centre and in the event that Plan A fails and Mark and Stace can't stop the
neutron bomb, your powers should ensure our survival, then we'll do what we can
to pick up the pieces. We'll be heading to a secure location from where we can
respond quickly and probably survive the initial blast if it comes to it. All
good?”

“
Yeah,”
says Chloe, laughing. “My powers will keep us all safe. Give me a laptop and
wifi and I'll stop the nuke.”

“
You'll
be safe with us, Chlo,” says Jamie, taking her hand.

The Trespasser's squad
step aside, leaving Mark and Stacy alone with their arms folded.

“
Mark,
Stace; you good?”

“
I
guess so,” says Mark, who is finally clean shaven.

Stacy takes off her
face mask and tosses it to Chloe.

“
We're
great, this won't be a problem. Fly up to detonation height and stop the bomb
going off while Beerman here carries me: easy.”

Though she gives him a
coy smile, he only managed to return a forced chuckle.

“
Right,”
says the Trespasser, “to stop any accidents, I'm going to connect the webbing
on your armour together. It should hold you on, Stace.”

“
Fine
by me,” she says, and her and Mark stand facing each other, their armour
touching, as the Trespasser connects them by a series of clips and harnesses.
She gives him a look filled with confidence and optimism, and all he gives her
back is a tired stare full of doubt.

“
In
that case...” the Trespasser leans in and takes Mark's hand. “Stay in touch via
comms. Best of luck, son. You too, Stace.”

He shakes her hand too,
and she gives him a soft punch on the shoulder.

Mark looks across at
the rest of the squad, and gives Jamie and Chloe a reassuring nod. Jamie gives
him a mock salute.

With nothing else to
do, Mark looks up at the sky.

“
Let's
get on then. See you lot on the other side.”

They wave him and Stacy
goodbye, and she stands on his boots as he focuses his mind and begins to
ascend into the early morning sky. They wrap their arms around each other, and
as they rise past the rooftops they accelerate, vanishing from sight.

High above Glasgow, the
clouds burn a dim orange-pink with the sunrise, and Mark and Stacy hover in
silence. Only the wind talks, in low hushed whispers. They keep their arms
around each other in an embrace. Stacy is pressed against his armoured body,
trying to avoid looking down.

“
How
will we know when the bomber is coming?” asks Mark, breaking the silence.

“
I'll
feel it,” she says, her teeth chattering. “Also it's bloody freezing up here.”

“
Here,”
says Mark, and pulls his golden-blue cape around her, keeping her pressed
against him.

“
Thanks.”

“
Better?”

“
Much.”
She rests her head against his chest. “You look weird without your hobo-beard.”

“
Thanks?”

“
It
can't be long now, can it?”

“
Till
the bomb?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Nah.
Not long.”

She leans back and
looks up at him; he won't meet her eyes. “You ok?”

“
I'm
fine.”

“
Mark?
You've been all funny since that ocean incident last night.”

“
I
nearly drowned, Stace, give me a break.”

Stacy feels her stomach
drop, as though they were falling. She looks down, and pats Mark on the chest
with frightened urgency.

“
Mark?
Mark, why are we going down?”

She looks up when he
doesn't answer, and sees his eyes closed with concentration.

“
Mark?”

“
Let
me focus Stace, you're not helping here.”

“
What's
wrong? Why aren't we flying?
Mark, we're going to fall
-”

They start to fall
faster, and Stacy's hair is caught by the rushing wind and blows in her face.
She cries out to him, but the wind whips her voice away.

“
I
can't focus,” he shouts, his voice booming over the wind. “I can only fly when
I'm focused.”

His cape is a whirling
mess of colour consuming them both now, and Stacy holds onto him as hard as she
can.

“
What's
stopping you?” she asks as they begin to tilt and wobble in their descent.

“
Fear,”
he shouts over the rushing air. “Doubt.”

“
Ok,
ok,” she mumbles, and grasps for his hands. The harness holding them together
strains and groans. She rubs his hands in hers, trying to sound as soothing as
she can when she's shouting over the rushing wind. “Try to focus on me. My
voice. My hands, feel my hands.”

Their descent slows,
and she hears Mark breathing in peacefully, like sighing.

“
Ok?”
she asks him, and they come to a stop above the city. She can see the streets
now, far below them, and prays that nobody looks up and sees them. The sun is
getting brighter. “Concentrate on that – the feeling of my hands. That's all
you need to focus on.”

With a faint smile,
Mark feels himself get lighter, and the fear and doubt drop away as he shifts
all of his focus onto the sensation of Stacy's hand in his, their fingers
intertwining and crossing over each other, tracing shapes in each others'
palms.

“
Better,”
he says, as they begin to soar into the sky once more.

“
Woah,”
she whispers, and holds on tight. “We're going pretty fast.”

Mark brings them to a
stop in the misty morning clouds, and Stacy burrows herself into his chest, the
cape keeping her warm in the dewy, fleecy sky.

“
Hey,
Stace?” he asks, and she looks up, squinting against the brightness.

“
What?”

“
Do
you want to go above the clouds? Do you want to see?”

She nods, and he pulls
her in close, focusing on the feel of her mousy hair against his shaven
jawline, her head resting on his chest. They break through the clouds in
seconds, and Mark feels her breathing harder.

“
You
ok?”

“
Just
a little scared. We're really high up.”

“
I've
got you, it's ok.”

“
What
if we start falling again?”

“
Then
hold my hand. We'll be fine. I just need to keep my mind focused – positive,
you know. I can only fly if I feel like I can.”

“
What
if you're flying and I'm not there?”

“
Well
I'll need a memory or something to use, won't I?”

They hold there,
neither ascending or descending, Mark spins them slowly.

The two of them float,
embraced in mid air above the rolling clouds. Over the horizon, shafts of
golden sunlight are piercing the sky. Chalky blue sky lies above them, coated
with stars as though someone has painted glitter across it.

“
How's
this for a memory?” she asks him. “It's bloody beautiful.”

“
I
reckon I could fly to the moon on this,” he says, smiling. Their hands tighten
around each other's, and Stacy lets her weight rest on the harness as she leans
back.

“
I
could make it better,” she whispers, nervous as the wind whips her hair across
her face.

Mark tears his eyes
away from the sunrise.

He looks down at Stacy.
He's always thought she looks a little like a mouse: button nose, big eyes,
soft brown hair, and her slightly bucked teeth. She has no make up on, showing
a few spots and blemishes

It's always her, he
thinks, who takes his hand when things get rough; who throws him a bottle when
he needs it.

Neither of them say
anything.

She wraps her arms
around his neck and tiptoes on his boots, planting her lips on his. She doesn't
care that he tastes like whiskey. He doesn't care that neither of them have
brushed their teeth or washed in days. For all they know, the world is about to
end.

During that blissful
minute they lose themselves in each other, lips locked and eyes closed, alone
except for the breeze and the sun.

When they part, Stacy's
eyes are filled with alarm. She pats his armoured chest.

“
I
can feel it,” she whispers. “The bomber. It's coming.”

“
Ok,”
he says, and pulls her in close. “Keep talking to me. We've got this.”

“
We've
got this,” she repeats. “We've got this. You need to climb, it's high.”

“
Climb,”
he says, and focuses on the lingering sensation of her lips on his. “Hold on.”

“
I'm
in a harness, Mark.”

“
Shh.”

They soar into the sky.

Trespasser One sees the
light shine over the skyline, and turns to the rest of the squad, who are
crouched in an abandoned café attached to Buchanan Bus Station. The light
spills over Glasgow, and the dust and debris in the air is visible in little
motes of dust.

“
Ok,”
he says. “The bomb should be dropping soon.”

Gary wrings his hands.
“I hope they two are ok up there. Mark kinda fell out the sky last time.”

“
They'll
be fi -”

Trespasser One stops –
there's a buzzing in his belt. He pulls out his old phone and gives a small
chuckle.

“
Agency.
I was expecting this,” he says, and raises it to his ear. “This is Trespasser
One.”

He listens for a full
minute, his face unchanging.

“
Ok,”
he says, and hangs up.

“
What
was it?” asks Jamie. “What were they saying?”

“
They
were telling me that my deadline is up, they're dropping the neutron bomb, and
that they hope I make it out of the city.”

“
Anything
else?”

“
Yeah.
They've got two fighter jets protecting the plane. Chloe, you got the comms
stuff there?”

She gives an eager nod,
and opens a satchel filled with phones and headsets.

“
You
want me to get a hold of Mark?”

“
Yeah.
Or Stacy. Either way, let them know they've got company up there.”

“
Anything
else?”

“
Yeah,
tell Mark to get drunk. He's going to need to be more than bulletproof.”