Simon Spurrier - The Culled

"The Iroquois?" I said, barely interested.

"Yeah! How the fuck'd they do that?"

I shrugged again. Good for them. Wouldn't have been difficult, I guessed. Impossible to invade the island, but easy to prowl the lake. Sneaking about, exploding a lorry or two, taking down the choppers from afar. No big undertaking, for enough people.

I wondered how many survived the fight by the reservoir. How many of them got away because Cy and his shitheads were so busy collecting me and Nate.

I wondered if the Tadodaho had planned it all along.

Who knew?

Who cared?

I imagined Malice's baby, gurgling on the distant shore, listening to the fireworks.

I cared.

How annoying.

Nate tried to pull me upright. I shook him off.

"C'mon!" He burbled, eyes bulging. "N-now's the time! We can… we can slip away, maybe. Huh? In the confusion, you know? It's your show! 'S what you do, man! We gotta… we gotta look out for each other!"

I translated in my head. It was almost pitiful.

You've got to look after me! I saved your life! Protect me! Protect me!

He tugged at me again, staring off down the hallway.

"Ain't no fucking way Nathaniel C. Waterstone's gonna die here today…"

And there it was.

I stared at him. He was struggling out of his robe, yanking the eye patch out of his pocket to cover the tattoo, muttering under his breath.

"Nate?" I said.

"Huh?"

"What's… What does the 'C' stand for?"

He stopped with the robe looped round his neck and stared at me, like I was insane.

"What?"

"The 'C'."

"The fuck you wanna…" He rolled his eyes and shook his head, like he'd decided to humour the mentalist to hurry him along. "Stands for Cassius. Why you wanna know?"

"Like… Cassius Clay?"

"My pop's hero. S'where they got the name."

The pieces slotted together.

I should have seen it before.

No more mysteries. No more excuses.

And finally Bella's little voice in my head, saying over and over not your problem, not your problem, that voice had an answer from the wolf, its eyes glowing in the dark.

Problem solved. It said.

"Nate."

"Huh?"

"We need to talk, Nate."

"Shit, man – it can wait! We gotta g…"

"You remember I called you a parasite?"

He went quiet, then nodded and waved it away.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Forget it, man. It was a… tense time. No need to apologi…"

"I wasn't going to, Nate."

"Wh… what? Oh."

"I was right. You are. You are a parasite." My voice was cold. I couldn't change it for the world. I was on autopilot.

Not your problem, Bella said. I shushed her gently and looked up at Nate.

His mouth formed words, trying to find something to say. Clergymen shouted nearby.

"L-look. Fucksakes! I… Listen, you got something to say, okay. O-kay. But you do it when we're out of here, huh? Or we both die right n…"

I pulled Cy's gun on him. His eyes bulged. He looked angry.

"What the… what the fuck, man? Are you out of your fucking mind? I saved your life, Limey! I saved your goddamn life, like, ten times! I got shot in the goddam foot, man. Don't you point that thing at m…"

"Nate."

"Don't you poi…"

"Nate. Listen."

He listened.

"You're good at favours, Nate. Good at finding people to take care of you."

"Now hold o…"

"No. Be quiet." I armed the gun. It sounded like bones scraping. "You told me you went over to England in the eighties, right? Got taken out there by your exec-bitch? Lived the life of Larry, blah blah. Cushy sort of arrangement. Right."

"Look, this ain't the t…"

"Then you fucked her pal and screwed it up."

He sighed. Looked down.

"Bummed your way around. Attached yourself to people. Yeah? Did the bare fucking minimum to make yourself useful. Got taken care of."

He wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Same as later on. You told me so yourself. The Clergy showed up, offered you a job. Nice and cosy, safe as houses. And who cared if the job was ferrying kiddies to get themselves sucked-dry? Huh? Who cared? You just pretend like you don't know."

The look in his eye told me: he knew.

"Oh, and there was the smack, too. You forgot to mention that. You told me you got clean back in London. Maybe you did, for a while. Must've been too good an opportunity, right? When these robe-wearing pricks showed up with all the skag you can shoot?

"Bare minimum effort, maximum reward. Easy life."

"L-look. It's… it's not like…"

"It was the same when I showed up. Shit, Nate, don't look at me like that. I know. You see this psycho Brit, all fired-up – who cares about what? – and he can make sure you don't get dead, and he can lead you back to the supply, and all you've gotta do in return is patch him up when he needs or wait for him to die."

"Don't you gimme that," he hissed, real anger in his voice. "Don't you act like I used you. You done the same! You lied to all them scavs. You had yourself a goal, same as me, and you used any motherfucker you had to to get it."

"That's true, Nate. Thank you for that." I smiled, cold fury doing something sharp to my belly. "I'm not a very nice piece of work either."

He nodded. Like he'd scored a point. "Well then."

"Except, the thing is, Nate… Responsibilities."

"What?"

"We've all got them. Don't always benefit us, but they're there. You think I gave a shit if John-Paul lived or died? Had nothing to do with me. Just got mixed-up in this. But I tell you what, Nate: I finished it. Too many people died on the way not to. Too much at stake."

"Make your point Limey."

"The point." I worked my jaw. Sighed deep. Saw Bella's face. "The point's name, Nate, was Shayla."

He stopped breathing.

Looked up.

"H-how… how did you…"

"She would've been, what? One, when you ran. Shit, you even left a note… 'Couldn't handle the responsibility', Bella said. Rare moment of honesty there, Nate."

"You… you know B-bella..?"

"You latched onto her too, didn't you? Nice young thing, bright as a button, rich family. I mean… there's you, out on the streets, no place to live, and here's this stupid kid. What an opportunity…"

"Y-you… you shut the fuck up, now…"

"Made her love you, right? Used her money. Got her hooked on shit and right up the duff. Then just when the cons outweigh the pros, just when there's a kid in the picture, off you toddle. Off to the Choirboys, waiting with their job. Off to the U-S of A. Something like that?"

He was glaring, now. Wondering whether to run or punch me.

"Malice kept wondering," I said, "why you wouldn't stop staring at her kid.

"Guilt, right?"

The gun was heavy in my hand. I sighed.

"Bella helped me get here." I said, voice tighter than I'd expected. There was something like a choke rising in my throat. "She's dead now."

"How long have you known who I was?" Nate said, quietly.

"I think…" I scowled, looking inwards. "I think from the beginning. Heh. Maybe I am like you, Nate. Maybe I ignored it because you were useful. Was only just now, sitting here, that it all clicked.

"'Claystone,' Bella called you. Nathaniel Cassius 'Clay' Waterstone. Small world."

"Small world." He muttered. Almost a whisper. Then: "How's… How's the girl?"

My jaw clenched.

"That's just it, Nate. That's what I meant about responsibilities. Y'see, that girl, that little Shayla… she turned five last year."

Nate's eyes bulged. He saw it coming.

"They raped her mummy and dragged her away, screaming, to an airport just outside London."

"Oh… oh god…"

"They loaded her onto a plane with a dozen more, all crying, and shipped them to a shitty little airport outside the Big Apple."

He moaned, knees giving way.