Roderick Gordon - Deeper

He didn't have to wait long to find out. The twins yelled down at him in quick succession.

"People have a habit of dying around you, Will, don't they?"

"Fun-loving Uncle Tam, sliced to shreds."

"And that fat fool Imago. A little fish told me he got sloppy—"

"— and now he's stone-cold dead," the other twin chimed in.

"By the way, have you bumped into your real mother yet? Sarah's down here, and she's looking for you."

"Somehow she got it into her head that you're to blame for Tam's death, and—"

"No! She knows that's not true!" Will cried, his voice cracking.

For a beat the twins were silent, as if they'd been taken by surprise.

"Well, she won't get away from us a second time," one Rebecca promised, not sounding quite so confident anymore.

"No, she won't. And while we're playing family reunions, sis, do tell him about Grandma Macaulay," the other Rebecca suggested with a harsh edge to her voice. This twin was clearly not fazed in the slightest by Will's interruption.

"Oh, yes, I forgot about her. She's dead," the first Rebecca answered bluntly. "From unnatural causes."

"We spread her on the pennybun fields." They both shrieked with laughter, and Will heard Cal murmur, his face still pressed against Bartleby.

"No," Will croaked, fearing for Cal. "It's not true," he said weakly. "They're lying." Then, in an anguished shout, he asked them, "Why are you doing this? Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Sorry. Not possible," one answered.

"An eye for an eye," the other added.

"Out of curiosity, why did you put a bullet in that trapper we were 'questioning' back on the Great Plain?" a twin continued. "It was you, wasn't it Elliott?"

"Did you get him mixed up with Drake?" the other said, then gave a full-bodied guffaw. "Bit trigger-happy, aren't you?"

Will and Elliott exchanged confused looks, and she mouthed "Oh no," at him.

"And as for that silly old goat, Dr. Burrows — we left him to putter around…"

Will stiffened as he heard his father's name, his heart missing several beats.

"— like bait in a trap—"

"— and we didn't even have to finish him off."

"Looks like he did the job for us."

The twins high-pitched giggles echoed around the dark stones.

"No, not Dad," Will whispered, shaking his head as he pulled back behind the menhir. He slid down its rough surface and slumped to the ground, his head hung low.

"So this is what we're putting on the table," a twin shouted, her voice deadly serious once more.

"If you want your little gang to live—"

"— then hand yourself over."

"And we'll be lenient with them," her sister piped in.

They were toying with him! Just as if they were playing some childish game, only this was sheer torture.

They went on in persuasive tones, telling him that his surrender would help his friends. Will could hear what the Rebeccas were saying, but it was all just noise. As though a dense fog had descended on him, he felt disoriented, and it was all he could do to sit upright against the menhir. He examined the ground around him, listlessly lifting a handful of dirt and crushing it in his fist. As he raised his head, his eyes alighted on Cal's face. Tears were streaming down the boy's cheeks.

Will had no idea what to say to his brother — he couldn't begin to express what he himself felt about Grandma Macaulay's death — so he just turned away. In the opposite direction, he noticed Elliott had left her position behind the menhir. She was snake-crawling through the arch by the edge of the Pore, almost at the first of the stone steps that led nowhere. Connected to her by the rope, Chester had begun the same short journey.

Trying to pull himself together, Will flung aside the fistful of dirt. He glanced again at Chester. He knew he should be following him, but he couldn't bring himself to — move. He was in a maelstrom of indecision. Should he give up the game and just hand himself over? Sacrifice himself in a bid to save the lives of his brother, Chester, and Elliott? It was the least he could do… After all, he'd gotten them into this. And if he didn't surrender, then they were probably all doomed, anyway.

"So what's it to be, big bro?" a Rebecca twin prompted him. "Going to do the right thing?"

Elliott was now completely hidden from sight down the flight of steps. "Don't, Will! It won't make any difference," she called to him.

"We're waiting!" shouted the other Rebecca, without any hint of her former humor. "Ten seconds, ready or not!"

The sisters began to count down, their alternating voices proclaiming each second.

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

"Oh, God," Will mumbled, throwing another glance at Cal.

"Eight!"

Sobs wracking his body, Cal babbled incomprehensibly at Will, who could only shake his head hopelessly in response.

"Seven!"

From behind the edge of the Pore, Elliott was urging him and Cal to get moving.

"Six!"

Chester, at the top of the steps, was jabbering at him, rapidly.

"Five!"

"Come on, Will!" Elliott snapped, her head bobbing up above the lip of the Pore.

"Four!"

Absolute confusion reigned as they each tried to speak to him at the same time, but through it all Will only heard the seconds as they twins coldly announced them, nearing the end of the countdown.

"Three!"

"Will!" Chester yelled, yanking at the rope in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Will!" Cal was screaming.

"Two!"

Will staggered to his feet.

"One!"

"Zero!" the twins said simultaneously.

"Your time's run out."

"The deal's off."

"More needless deaths you've notched u, Will!"

Will heard Cal shouting and spun around.

"NO! WAIT!" his brother was shrieking. "I WANT TO GO HOME!"

He'd jumped out from behind the menhir and was waving his arms, in plain view of the Limiters and bathed in the full beams of the spotlights.

Right in the firing line.

Cracks of multiple rifle shots came from all around the upper reaches of the slope. So many in such a short space of time, it sounded like a speeded-up drumroll.

The barrage struck Cal all over his body with a messy, deadly precision. He didn't stand a chance. As if swatted by a huge invisible hand, the bullets' impact swept him off his feet, leaving a momentary red trace airborne in his place.

Will could only watch as his brother flopped in a broken heap by the very edge of the Pore, like a puppet whose strings had all been cut. It was as if it had happened in grisly slow motion. The bounce of his brother's arm as it hit the damp ground, the fact that he was only wearing one sock — Will absorbed even the smallest details.

Then Cal's body simply tipped over the edge. The rope around Will's waist snapped tight, the sudden tension yanking on him and forcing him several steps forward.

Bartleby, who had been waiting obediently where Cal had left him, scrabbled up in a whir of long limbs and burst after his master, vanishing from sight over the lip of the Pore. The drag on Will from the rope increased, and he knew that the cat must be hanging on to Cal's body.

Shots sizzled through the light beams, which switched back and forth so rapidly that they gave a stroboscopic effect. The bullets fell around him, like a metal rain, whining and ricocheting off the menhirs and flicking up sprays of dirt at his feet.

But Will didn't make any attempt to hide. With his hands pressed against his temples, he screamed with every last drop of air in his lungs, until all that was left was a rasping croak. He swallowed down more air and screamed a second time: The word Enough! Was just discernible through it. As his howl came to an end, a deathly hush filled the place.

The Limiters had ceased firing.