pain
Carter leaped and took the bullet in his own body, felt the impact and looked up from a thick pool of red, could see Maria’s face staring down at him as he was lowered into the hole in the ground and they threw flowers on top of him and started to shovel in the dirt and he wanted to scream -
scream, I’m not dead yet
I’m not dead...
He awoke in the darkness, shivering and remembering the past. He could feel warmth against his back and, groaning, he rolled over, hand reaching out to stroke soft fur. There was a noise, a decline of sound like a reverse turbine. Carter laughed, and patted the Labrador’s head with a sigh.
‘You OK, pal?’
Samson panted, tongue flicking out to steal salt from Carter’s cold back.
‘Cut it out, you mongrel.’
He rolled from the bed and pulled on grey combats and a thick jumper, much too large but soft and comfortable and the way he liked it. Samson watched him dress, then jumped off the bed and followed him out and down the stairs to the kitchen. Carter fed the Lab as the grey rays of weak sunshine filtered over the mountains and he crouched, watching Samson eat.
‘You eat like a fucking animal,’ he said soberly.
Sam cocked a single beady eye at him, and continued to shovel.
Leaving the dog, Carter returned to the living room and stretched his spine, then unlocked the door and stepped out onto a narrow balcony. The cold hit him like a brick in the face and he gasped, smiling at the shock. Wind lashed his short hair and he leaned over the balcony, gazing out over the snow. In the distance he could see woodland, snow-laden and picturesque. Roads snaked into the distance, between hills, and beyond it all squatted the mountains, old Grey Gods watching over these Minor Petty Mortals.
‘A damn sight better than fucking London,’ he muttered. The phone rang. He stepped back inside and picked up the receiver. ‘Yeah?’
‘Carter, it’s Natasha.’ She sounded serious.
‘Natasha - I need a fucking serious word with you, my friend ... Have you any fucking idea what happened to me in Germany—’
‘No time, Carter. Bad shit is hitting the fan. I’m coming up.’
‘Here? Now?’
‘Yes. I’ll be four to six hours. Don’t use your ECube. In fact, I don’t think you can use your ECube.’
‘Why—’
‘It’s the DemolSquads. One of them has been wiped out; fucking assassinated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
The line went dead. Carter scanned the signals on the phone; the line was untraceable and had, by all accounts, never existed. Nats had used an advanced descramble signal only issued to the TacSquads.
She obviously wanted nobody to hear the call...
Carter scratched at his stubble, her words troubling him. He shrugged to himself, trying to push the worries from his mind. Now: now there was nothing he could do. He could merely await Natasha and wonder at her brisk words - and warning - but it wasn’t that simple, it was never that simple. Why hadn’t he heard from Spiral? What the fuck was going on?
Realising that he always thought better when exercising, he called, ‘Samson, we going for a run?’ as wariness and bad images concerning Natasha, the assassinations, and the lack of communications from Spiral flickered in his mind ...
The dog was there in two seconds, jumping up, tail wagging, eyes bright at the promise of exercise and a few cheap sniffs.
Carter pulled on his running shoes, battered old Nike Airs, and trotted down the steps from the living quarters to the front door - the price of having a house built into the side of a steep hill - and with Samson panting eagerly at his heels, jostling and pushing as if to send him cart-wheeling down the steps. With a cursing ‘You trying to kill me?’ - a traditional pre-run invocation - they spilled out untidily into the snow.
The morning was extremely cold, a frost having made the snow hard and slippery. Carter, with the sniffing Lab at his heels, set off up a gentle incline towards the
Carter leaped and took the bullet in his own body, felt the impact and looked up from a thick pool of red, could see Maria’s face staring down at him as he was lowered into the hole in the ground and they threw flowers on top of him and started to shovel in the dirt and he wanted to scream -
scream, I’m not dead yet
I’m not dead...
He awoke in the darkness, shivering and remembering the past. He could feel warmth against his back and, groaning, he rolled over, hand reaching out to stroke soft fur. There was a noise, a decline of sound like a reverse turbine. Carter laughed, and patted the Labrador’s head with a sigh.
‘You OK, pal?’
Samson panted, tongue flicking out to steal salt from Carter’s cold back.
‘Cut it out, you mongrel.’
He rolled from the bed and pulled on grey combats and a thick jumper, much too large but soft and comfortable and the way he liked it. Samson watched him dress, then jumped off the bed and followed him out and down the stairs to the kitchen. Carter fed the Lab as the grey rays of weak sunshine filtered over the mountains and he crouched, watching Samson eat.
‘You eat like a fucking animal,’ he said soberly.
Sam cocked a single beady eye at him, and continued to shovel.
Leaving the dog, Carter returned to the living room and stretched his spine, then unlocked the door and stepped out onto a narrow balcony. The cold hit him like a brick in the face and he gasped, smiling at the shock. Wind lashed his short hair and he leaned over the balcony, gazing out over the snow. In the distance he could see woodland, snow-laden and picturesque. Roads snaked into the distance, between hills, and beyond it all squatted the mountains, old Grey Gods watching over these Minor Petty Mortals.
‘A damn sight better than fucking London,’ he muttered. The phone rang. He stepped back inside and picked up the receiver. ‘Yeah?’
‘Carter, it’s Natasha.’ She sounded serious.
‘Natasha - I need a fucking serious word with you, my friend ... Have you any fucking idea what happened to me in Germany—’
‘No time, Carter. Bad shit is hitting the fan. I’m coming up.’
‘Here? Now?’
‘Yes. I’ll be four to six hours. Don’t use your ECube. In fact, I don’t think you can use your ECube.’
‘Why—’
‘It’s the DemolSquads. One of them has been wiped out; fucking assassinated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
The line went dead. Carter scanned the signals on the phone; the line was untraceable and had, by all accounts, never existed. Nats had used an advanced descramble signal only issued to the TacSquads.
She obviously wanted nobody to hear the call...
Carter scratched at his stubble, her words troubling him. He shrugged to himself, trying to push the worries from his mind. Now: now there was nothing he could do. He could merely await Natasha and wonder at her brisk words - and warning - but it wasn’t that simple, it was never that simple. Why hadn’t he heard from Spiral? What the fuck was going on?
Realising that he always thought better when exercising, he called, ‘Samson, we going for a run?’ as wariness and bad images concerning Natasha, the assassinations, and the lack of communications from Spiral flickered in his mind ...
The dog was there in two seconds, jumping up, tail wagging, eyes bright at the promise of exercise and a few cheap sniffs.
Carter pulled on his running shoes, battered old Nike Airs, and trotted down the steps from the living quarters to the front door - the price of having a house built into the side of a steep hill - and with Samson panting eagerly at his heels, jostling and pushing as if to send him cart-wheeling down the steps. With a cursing ‘You trying to kill me?’ - a traditional pre-run invocation - they spilled out untidily into the snow.
The morning was extremely cold, a frost having made the snow hard and slippery. Carter, with the sniffing Lab at his heels, set off up a gentle incline towards the
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