and if necessary silence him. Roberts knew too much already. The slightest risk of him opening the grave . . . that could not be allowed to happen. Not now. Not after so long, when most of the people who knew about the berserkers were dead, or mad. exactly
“I showed him where to find the grave, and that’s all. But Cole, you mean they took some of the guys with them? Who? Where? Why?”
“Where is what I’ve spent the last ten years trying to find out,” Cole said. “And I think you know why.”
King bowed his head. “Poor bastards,” he said again.
Cole stood to leave. “Nath, you live like a pig. What happened to you? Why did you go this way? You could have sorted yourself out, got a decent job in security. Worked abroad, maybe. Why this?” He gestured at the filthy living room, encapsulating the whole of King’s life with one wave of his hand.
“Seeing what I saw . . .” King said, but he shook his head and looked down at his bound arms and legs. “You leaving me like this?”
Cole put his hand on King’s shoulder and squeezed. His old comrade. His old friend. “No,” he said, and as King’s shoulders relaxed Cole grabbed him around the head and broke his neck.
* * *
Outside Nathan King’s second-floor flat, Cole stood for a while and held onto the landing balustrade. He was shaking. His hands were clawed, cramped, and his shoulders ached. He had not killed anyone for six years; he had killed a friend. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, taking strange comfort in the city smells after leaving the reeking flat. Exhaust fumes and the stench of stale fat from fast food restaurants were preferable to the stench of King’s decline. Memories flashed by, images of King and him ten years ago, young and brash and indestructible. never
Working at Porton Down had been a much sought-after posting. The food and accommodation had been good, the security work interesting, and the local ladies had always been interested in men clothed in uniforms and secrecy. Days on the base were spent patrolling the perimeter, fixing fences, handling the dogs, guarding the gates and occasionally doing over reporters who made it their mission to ‘reveal breaches in security’. Evenings were spent at local pubs and clubs, spreading wild tales without actually saying anything, and letting the local girls work off their fascination in the back seats of cars or on the moor behind the pubs. Cole, King and the others had revelled in the assignment. They were reliable men, good soldiers – that was why they had been chosen – but they were also more than aware that they had landed a cushy number. They worked hard at the security of the base, always aware that a true breach would likely result in them being sent back to their regiments, and put a lot of energy into their leisure time, too. The base had a good gym and ample countryside for running. They kept fit. They banked their extra wages. Rarely, if ever, did they question what was going on at the camp. They all knew of the facility’s history, but they were Army through and through. They understood the need for deterrent and retaliation, and none of them had any time for the occasional protestors who camped at the main gates, waving their placards and demanding the safe return of a bunch of bunnies or puppies.
Three months after starting there, he and King had witnessed the return of the berserkers from Iraq.
Cole opened his eyes and stared out across the park opposite the flat. A young mother was pushing a pram along a path, a toddler running beside her, aiming for the playground. The toddler – a little girl – ran on ahead, jumping onto the roundabout and waiting impatiently for her mother to begin pushing. The baby squealed in its pram as it watched its sister having so much fun. The mother, tall, red-headed and attractive, pressed the pram’s brakes and pushed the roundabout, bending to kiss her daughter every time she span by. The little girl
“I showed him where to find the grave, and that’s all. But Cole, you mean they took some of the guys with them? Who? Where? Why?”
“Where is what I’ve spent the last ten years trying to find out,” Cole said. “And I think you know why.”
King bowed his head. “Poor bastards,” he said again.
Cole stood to leave. “Nath, you live like a pig. What happened to you? Why did you go this way? You could have sorted yourself out, got a decent job in security. Worked abroad, maybe. Why this?” He gestured at the filthy living room, encapsulating the whole of King’s life with one wave of his hand.
“Seeing what I saw . . .” King said, but he shook his head and looked down at his bound arms and legs. “You leaving me like this?”
Cole put his hand on King’s shoulder and squeezed. His old comrade. His old friend. “No,” he said, and as King’s shoulders relaxed Cole grabbed him around the head and broke his neck.
* * *
Outside Nathan King’s second-floor flat, Cole stood for a while and held onto the landing balustrade. He was shaking. His hands were clawed, cramped, and his shoulders ached. He had not killed anyone for six years; he had killed a friend. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, taking strange comfort in the city smells after leaving the reeking flat. Exhaust fumes and the stench of stale fat from fast food restaurants were preferable to the stench of King’s decline. Memories flashed by, images of King and him ten years ago, young and brash and indestructible. never
Working at Porton Down had been a much sought-after posting. The food and accommodation had been good, the security work interesting, and the local ladies had always been interested in men clothed in uniforms and secrecy. Days on the base were spent patrolling the perimeter, fixing fences, handling the dogs, guarding the gates and occasionally doing over reporters who made it their mission to ‘reveal breaches in security’. Evenings were spent at local pubs and clubs, spreading wild tales without actually saying anything, and letting the local girls work off their fascination in the back seats of cars or on the moor behind the pubs. Cole, King and the others had revelled in the assignment. They were reliable men, good soldiers – that was why they had been chosen – but they were also more than aware that they had landed a cushy number. They worked hard at the security of the base, always aware that a true breach would likely result in them being sent back to their regiments, and put a lot of energy into their leisure time, too. The base had a good gym and ample countryside for running. They kept fit. They banked their extra wages. Rarely, if ever, did they question what was going on at the camp. They all knew of the facility’s history, but they were Army through and through. They understood the need for deterrent and retaliation, and none of them had any time for the occasional protestors who camped at the main gates, waving their placards and demanding the safe return of a bunch of bunnies or puppies.
Three months after starting there, he and King had witnessed the return of the berserkers from Iraq.
Cole opened his eyes and stared out across the park opposite the flat. A young mother was pushing a pram along a path, a toddler running beside her, aiming for the playground. The toddler – a little girl – ran on ahead, jumping onto the roundabout and waiting impatiently for her mother to begin pushing. The baby squealed in its pram as it watched its sister having so much fun. The mother, tall, red-headed and attractive, pressed the pram’s brakes and pushed the roundabout, bending to kiss her daughter every time she span by. The little girl
Similar Books
