David Gunn - Day of the Damned

‘Sir,’ says Leona. ‘You all right?’

Not the kind of question she should be asking. ‘Leona,’ I say, ‘you want to tell me what that was about?’

She looks uncertain.

‘That’s an order.’

‘The woman had a knife.’

The sergeant looks sane. That’s good enough for me. Anton wants to know why we’re searching the floor. So does Sef. At least, she stops fussing over Simone long enough to ask why we’re on our knees.

I don’t answer either of them.

I don’t find a knife either.

What I do find is a puddle. At least, the remains of one.

Most of the liquid has disappeared down a gap in the boards. Dropping to a crouch, Leona wipes her fingers across the floor and tastes it.

‘Water,’ she says.

Leona’s right. I’m thinking about this when it occurs to me she’s still staring at me. ‘What?’ I demand.

‘Sir,’ she whispers. ‘I saw a blade.’

On the bed, Simone is groaning. She sits up, falls back and struggles up again. It’s a bravura performance. ‘What happened?’

‘You slipped,’ I tell her. ‘On a puddle of water.’

Something says she doesn’t believe me. Anton’s staring, and Sef has her mouth open to protest. Although she shuts it again when Leona glares.

‘Get your cloak,’ I say. ‘We’re taking you home.’

‘But I want to see Vijay.’

My sigh has Leona smiling.

All five of us make our way down the stairs. I’ve told Sef and Simone what will happen if either one makes a noise. It involves letting Sergeant Leona loose on them. This probably explains why we almost reach ground level before Paulo appears.

The sight of my knife freezes his protest.

‘Lock the front door after us,’ I tell him. ‘Raise an alarm and I’ll come back and burn your house to the ground. With you inside . . .’

He believes me. It shows in his eyes.

‘Paulo,’ says Sef. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

Although he keeps his mouth firmly shut, he shakes his head and slides his gaze between my face and my knife, his mouth twisting in anguish.

‘Please . . .’ he blurts.

Courage impresses me, whatever form it takes. When Paulo realizes he’s not going to get punched or stabbed, he relaxes slightly. ‘Let her stay here,’ he begs. ‘I promise to keep her safe.’

‘She’ll be safe with me,’ Simone says.

Paulo dares to disagree.

This makes me wonder what he knows.

And that makes me wonder why Simone is so keen her sister sleeps somewhere other than this. I might be slow. But I get there. Too many things about this that make no sense.

‘You know where Vijay lives?’

Sef nods. She doesn’t say where, of course. Or give me directions. She simply nods.

‘Sir,’ Paulo says.

‘Sef and her sister go with us. End of story. You want to protect her, find me a piece . . .’

The little man looks puzzled.

‘A gun,’ Sergeant Leona says, translating it into language he can understand. ‘Do you have anything resembling a gun?’

Paulo grins.

‘You take point,’ I tell Leona.

She nods.

‘I’ll bring up the rear.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Anton, you and the Kamas travel together. Anyone asks, you’re on your way back from a party. Didn’t realize it was curfew.’

We have one piece and a collection of kitchen knives. Paulo’s contribution to keeping Sef safe until she finds her fiance. He’s also tacked my empty sleeve neatly across my jacket to stop it flapping.

Anton thinks this hysterically funny.

Not sure why I let Paulo do it. Except he wants to make the jacket look neater and obviously has Sef’s interests at heart. And he did give me his revolver.

It’s huge, uses a calibre I’ve never seen, and pivots open beyond the trigger, rather than having a cylinder that flips out to one side. The cylinder only takes five rounds, despite its size. But each one is fatter than my thumb.

Seems Paulo had a friend who worked in an abattoir.

This was what he used to kill oxen. All right, it’s rusting and we’ve only got twelve rounds in all. But even empty it’s going to make a good club. Pity it’s not AI, it would probably spit like a campesino and demand to be cleaned only with cooking alcohol.

‘Sven,’ Anton says. ‘You’re grinning.’

He’s in a better mood than he was a moment ago. Mind you, I was hammering crosses into the top of each round using a kitchen knife and a pestle borrowed from Paulo’s kitchen. Think he thought ammunition this old might explode.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’

Between them, I’m hoping Anton, Sef and Simone can muster enough high clan outrage to cow the militia we’re likely to meet. If we meet Death’s Head, or anyone from General Luc’s own troop, then we’re fucked.

Anton knows that even if the others don’t.

Half a mile down the road, I slip forward and tell Anton our change of plan. His group’s on its own from now on. At least, that’s how it will look to those watching. Anything happens, we’re there. Otherwise, Leona and I don’t exist.

Anton is in Sef’s hands for directions.

As Simone and Sef argue which route to take, we slip away. Simone has the brains, and Sef the sickly sweetness Anton finds so attractive. They both have that high clan smugness that makes me want to slap them.

Voices come from an upper window as we cut under an arch.

A dozen men talking, maybe two dozen. The voices mute as Anton, Sef and Simone pass without seeing us. I can’t shake the feeling they’re being watched, as they turn down streets that change their names halfway and bicker about which side of a square to walk.

As if it matters.

Blank colonnades stare at them as they tramp across flagstones.

Sef and Simone’s constant arguing, all done too loudly, and with an obvious high clan accent, acts as their passport. I hear men in a garden behind one of the walls. They fall silent. Just as the men in that upstairs room fell silent. Although two guards peer through a small gate.

Leona and I freeze.

The men stare at Anton and the twins. Anton nods, Serafina wishes them a good evening and Sef waves.

Still muttering, the men disappear.

In a courtyard beyond, troops wait. Fifty soldiers, maybe more. Sergeant Leona’s seen them too. Anton doesn’t notice. He’s too busy listening to Sef complain that her route is better. Although, as Simone points out, as they’re almost there it doesn’t really matter.

‘Fuckwits,’ Leona says.

Don’t think I’m meant to hear that.

Slipping after them, we find Anton, Sef and Simone standing by the river. They’re admiring its blackness. At least Sef is. Anton’s merely agreeing how very black it is. While Simone’s look is unreadable.

Should have known Vijay would have a mansion round here. For all that the river is stale and stinks, these are still the most expensive houses in the city.

‘I’ll go ahead,’ we hear Simone say. ‘Make sure it’s safe.’

We follow her.

She’s good, Leona. Moves swiftly, efficiently and silently.

Makes me wonder if she’s really militia. I’d have her pegged as elite, if I didn’t know the elites only take men.

‘Sir,’ she whispers.

‘What?’

‘Back at Paulo’s . . .’

‘You did see a blade?’

She scowls, then smiles when she realizes I believe her.

The sergeant and I are close enough to smell each other. And I notice the way her fringe slicks to the side of her head.

Another thing I notice is that the badges are cut from her uniform. I’ve only her word she’s a dispatch rider. Although why would anybody bother to lie about a thing like that?

‘On Paradise,’ I tell her, ‘people used ice daggers all the time.’