drug that altered an organism’s responses, there were side effects. And this resistance to Durell’s grand scheme gave the Nex an even greater need to exterminate the seemingly perpetual thorn in their side: Spiral.
Carter lowered the Manta on a whine of engines, and then skimmed the top of a huge, sprawling, rain-drenched pine forest, sweeping up over a massive hillside and banking past an old stone Bavarian castle mounted on a narrow rocky outcropping.
Carter’s mind started to settle itself, readying for the confrontation he knew was to come. He breathed deeply, watching the rolling forests undulating beneath him. They crossed a river swollen by heavy rainfall... then flew low over a deserted German village, the desolate streets empty except for a few rusting, overturned cars. Occasionally Carter caught a glimpse of skeletons squatting in corners, huddled in wet torn clothing, bones picked clean by scavengers. Carter shivered in the confines of the Manta’s cockpit.
A ghost town, he thought.
HATE did its job well...
‘ Yeah, but never well enough,’ came Kade’s bitter words.
‘Why don’t you just fuck off and die?’
Kade chuckled, a bone-rattling sound filled with lead and toxins. ‘Never in your lifetime compadre— Brother, Father, Son and Holy fucking Ghost. We are together. Merged and bonded into One. For now and for all eternity ... or until we crumble into dust. Amen.’’
Carter’s dark, sombre eyes stared steadily ahead through the gloom. He severed the connection.
Carter landed on the outskirts of London, in a park beside a river. The distant skyline was a ravaged silhouette of broken buildings; the relics of the nuclear blast five years earlier.
A SmutCar—an old rusting black Range Rover which had had the roof cut free with a Stihlsaw and sported folded, jagged edges—was waiting patiently for the two men; just as Nicky had promised. Carter landed the Manta and climbed free of its warmth and into the chilly London air. Ed followed, shouldering the soft case containing his Russian Dragunov SVD sniper rifle with its PSO-1 telescopic sight, and carrying an M27 carbine in his tattooed hands. His face was set, blue eyes focused on the job that had to be done.
Carter moved warily to the Range Rover, checking inside and out—mainly for bombs. He palmed the key and slid it into the ignition as Ed scanned the area. The powerful Perkins 7.2 diesel fired after a few spins of the starter, and black fumes belched from the triple exhaust pipes. Carter slid into the damp rain-slick seat and fixed his eyes on the distant remains of the capital. Even from this distance he could make out the war-torn features; the crumbling, bombarded, bullet-riddled buildings.
‘We’re clear,’ said Ed softly, climbing in beside Carter. ‘Too much chance of contracting HATE out here—looks like the people have defined their own borders.’
‘It’s still classed as a KillZone,’ said Carter. ‘If the fucking Nex see us they’ll open fire without question.’
‘Yeah, but if they see your face, mate, they’ll open fire anyway. You’re a wanted man.’
‘Good point. You fill me with supreme confidence.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’ Ed grinned, slapping Carter on the back.
Carter nudged the old tiptronic into first and stomped the accelerator pedal. The Range Rover wheel-spun across loose stones, bit tarmac and shot down past the edges of the tree-lined park with its black wrought-iron fences. They disappeared into the narrow, shadowed confines of a deserted huddle of Victorian terraced buildings.
They drove slowly through a light fall of rain threatening to become snow, tyres crunching rubble, eyes watching warily the people who moved along the pavements.
They cruised past several groups of JT8s, black-clad and wearing alloy and plastic gas-masks. Occasionally, their heads kept low, the two men rumbled past a squad of Nex—but the authorities seemed uninterested in this old SmutCar with its
Carter lowered the Manta on a whine of engines, and then skimmed the top of a huge, sprawling, rain-drenched pine forest, sweeping up over a massive hillside and banking past an old stone Bavarian castle mounted on a narrow rocky outcropping.
Carter’s mind started to settle itself, readying for the confrontation he knew was to come. He breathed deeply, watching the rolling forests undulating beneath him. They crossed a river swollen by heavy rainfall... then flew low over a deserted German village, the desolate streets empty except for a few rusting, overturned cars. Occasionally Carter caught a glimpse of skeletons squatting in corners, huddled in wet torn clothing, bones picked clean by scavengers. Carter shivered in the confines of the Manta’s cockpit.
A ghost town, he thought.
HATE did its job well...
‘ Yeah, but never well enough,’ came Kade’s bitter words.
‘Why don’t you just fuck off and die?’
Kade chuckled, a bone-rattling sound filled with lead and toxins. ‘Never in your lifetime compadre— Brother, Father, Son and Holy fucking Ghost. We are together. Merged and bonded into One. For now and for all eternity ... or until we crumble into dust. Amen.’’
Carter’s dark, sombre eyes stared steadily ahead through the gloom. He severed the connection.
Carter landed on the outskirts of London, in a park beside a river. The distant skyline was a ravaged silhouette of broken buildings; the relics of the nuclear blast five years earlier.
A SmutCar—an old rusting black Range Rover which had had the roof cut free with a Stihlsaw and sported folded, jagged edges—was waiting patiently for the two men; just as Nicky had promised. Carter landed the Manta and climbed free of its warmth and into the chilly London air. Ed followed, shouldering the soft case containing his Russian Dragunov SVD sniper rifle with its PSO-1 telescopic sight, and carrying an M27 carbine in his tattooed hands. His face was set, blue eyes focused on the job that had to be done.
Carter moved warily to the Range Rover, checking inside and out—mainly for bombs. He palmed the key and slid it into the ignition as Ed scanned the area. The powerful Perkins 7.2 diesel fired after a few spins of the starter, and black fumes belched from the triple exhaust pipes. Carter slid into the damp rain-slick seat and fixed his eyes on the distant remains of the capital. Even from this distance he could make out the war-torn features; the crumbling, bombarded, bullet-riddled buildings.
‘We’re clear,’ said Ed softly, climbing in beside Carter. ‘Too much chance of contracting HATE out here—looks like the people have defined their own borders.’
‘It’s still classed as a KillZone,’ said Carter. ‘If the fucking Nex see us they’ll open fire without question.’
‘Yeah, but if they see your face, mate, they’ll open fire anyway. You’re a wanted man.’
‘Good point. You fill me with supreme confidence.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’ Ed grinned, slapping Carter on the back.
Carter nudged the old tiptronic into first and stomped the accelerator pedal. The Range Rover wheel-spun across loose stones, bit tarmac and shot down past the edges of the tree-lined park with its black wrought-iron fences. They disappeared into the narrow, shadowed confines of a deserted huddle of Victorian terraced buildings.
They drove slowly through a light fall of rain threatening to become snow, tyres crunching rubble, eyes watching warily the people who moved along the pavements.
They cruised past several groups of JT8s, black-clad and wearing alloy and plastic gas-masks. Occasionally, their heads kept low, the two men rumbled past a squad of Nex—but the authorities seemed uninterested in this old SmutCar with its
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