Stuart MacBride - Halfhead

‘Yes, sir!’

Idiot.

Will called the sergeant and told him to round up more bodies and meet him in the hospital lobby.

Tears roll down her cheeks when the lift shudders to a halt between floors. She was so close. So very, very close. Twenty seconds longer and she’d have been free.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She could have sat on her backside, down in the storeroom, and waited for her surgical appointment, but no. She has to have revenge ! She has to risk everything for a little venal pleasure.

She deserves to be caught.

Deserves it.

But she’d been so close…

Dr Westfield reaches into her jumpsuit pocket and fingers her new Palm Zapper. She won’t make it easy for them. The little pebbled disk is powered up, its dial twisted past ‘HEAVY STUN’ all the way to ‘FULL POWER’.

She looks at what’s left of her face, reflected in the lift’s mirrored doors. If they catch her they’ll burn her brain away again. And this time they’ll do it properly. This time there will be no coming back.

The Zapper is warm in her hands.

They won’t take her alive.

They clustered round the lift entrance, all weapons pointed at the doors. A small crowd was beginning to form behind the Network team, but just like the residents of Sherman House, everyone observed the mythical six-foot barrier.

Will clicked his throat-mike, ‘I’m going to give the word and I want you to bring the elevator down nice and slow.’ He checked the cordon of heavy weapons surrounding him. They had enough firepower to take on a small army. ‘Do it.’

With a delicate ping , the double doors slid open and the sound of electronic firearms gearing up filled the air like wasps in a blender. There, standing behind a disposal buggy, was a solitary halfhead.

‘Shite.’ The sergeant took a step forward and swept the lift from top to bottom. ‘There’s no one here.’

Will could have sworn the truncated face relaxed as the sergeant spoke…but that was ridiculous.

‘Hold on.’ Will motioned one of the troopers forward, pointing at the disposal buggy. He’d been right: it was easily big enough to take a fully grown man. The trooper nodded and held his Whomper vertically, the butt-end brushing the ceiling tiles inside the lift. The barrel was pointing straight down into the open buggy.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he said at last. ‘Nothin’ in there, but crap.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yup.’ The trooper stabbed the assault rifle down into the basket, sweeping it through the rubbish, letting it clang off the buggy’s walls. When he pulled it out again there were unpleasant things sticking to the barrel.

Will stepped into the lift. It was beginning to get a bit crowded: three Network personnel, a halfhead, and a disposal buggy. He peered inside the open top, but the trooper was right, there was no one hiding in there. This had all been one big waste of time.

They stood back and let the halfhead get on with its business, moving between the foyer’s rubbish bins, picking them up and tipping them into the disposal buggy as if there was nothing more important in the world.

‘Damn it!’ They were back to square one.

The trooper with the dirty Whomper wiped the barrel clean and said, ‘Y’know the wee bugger may still be up there, sir?’

The sergeant nodded. ‘Aye, and there’s always the stairs.’

‘You’re right.’ Will powered down his Palm Thrummer and slipped it back in its holster. ‘Sergeant, take enough men to search the whole Network level. The rest of you, watch the exits.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Jo, you picking this up? DS Cameron, can you hear me?’

‘Not so loud! I hear you. God my head hurts…’

‘Glad to hear you’re feeling better.’ Will stepped back into the lift, his finger pushing the button for the thirteenth floor. ‘Can you describe the man who attacked you?’

‘I’m kinda fuzzy. I came out of the doors and…and I think there was a halfhead sitting on the seats…And I…I remember going to see if it was OK…Next thing I know: you’re standing over me and my head feels like it’s splitting open.’

‘You didn’t see anyone else?’

‘Just the halfhead.’

He froze as the lift doors slid shut. It couldn’t be…could it? He stabbed the ‘hold’ button and dragged his Thrummer back out. It was a stupid idea, but he could have sworn he’d seen the expression on its face change: as if it’d been expecting trouble that didn’t happen. He squeezed through the doors and ran out into the lobby. There were people milling about everywhere, but no sign of the halfhead with the disposal buggy.

‘Where are you?’ Will pushed his way through the crowd to the middle of the floor and hopped up onto one of the seats.

‘Hey, get down from there!’

‘Shut up, Peter, can you no’ see he’s got a gun?’

Will ignored them, searching the throng for the familiar truncated features and orange and black jumpsuit. There: over by the drinks machine! He jumped down from the chair and saw another halfhead before he’d even hit the floor. And another and another. Suddenly the foyer was full of them, all slouching their way towards the exit.

‘What the hell?’ He barged his way to the front doors.

There were even more of them outside, all shuffling off the back of a bright-yellow Services Roadhugger. It had pulled in, right under the hospital’s portico, keeping out of the rain, and a fat man in dirty grey and blue overalls was man handling more halfheads down from the tailgate. Will grabbed him, spinning him round.

‘Hey, get yer hands aff me, ya bampot!’ The man puffed and flustered, smoothing away imaginary creases in his uniform.

‘I want you to keep your halfheads away from the hospital ones!’

‘Aye, that’ll be shinin’. It’s changeover time, James, this lot have tae go in an’ sweep the floors an’ pick up the jobbies.’

‘Just hold them here!’ Will stuck his ID under the man’s nose and watched the assembling halfheads.

‘Well, well.’ He took Will’s ID card and squinted at it. ‘Hey Dougie, look at this: it’s a bigwig fae the Netwurk!’ The fat man turned and showed it to his colleague, the one dishing out the mops and buckets. ‘Are we no’ honoured?’

‘Oh, aye, I’m honoured all right.’ Dougie laughed, showing off a random collection of lopsided teeth.

Will snatched his ID back. ‘Fancy a three-week holiday in the Tin? Because that’s what you’ll get if I do you for obstruction!’

‘Aye, aye, keep yer wig on, James. There’s nae need tae get a’ huffy.’ The fat man waved a hand at his partner. ‘Douglas,’ he said in a mock Morningside accent, ‘be so good as to line all oor guests up against the truck so that they does not mix wi’ those ruffians ower there.’

‘Aye, aye Mon Capitan. I’ll just shoogle ‘em over here oot o’ harms way.’ He gave an elaborate salute and shoved his charges back against the Roadhugger’s side. ‘Come on ma wee darlins, let’s be havin’ ye.’

‘There ye go, James, all present and correct.’ The fat man added, ‘Sah!’ then clicked his heels and grinned. Will came within an inch of punching him on his squint, sarcastic nose.

The halfheads from the previous shift were beginning to get restless. Every evening they would drift out of the hospital and onto the Roadhugger, go home to the depot to be fed and washed. They lived by their routine and the change was making them nervous. One by one they abandoned their wheelies and their buggies; milling about, looking distressed. Will tried pushing them into some sort of order, but it was like juggling cats: they wanted to get onboard the Roadhugger and there was going to be no standing still until they did.