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Chapter Fifteen

Alex

Running blindly through the night, Alex was hardly aware of where he was going.

He heard the sound of sirens blaring out behind him but didn’t pause to look back.

He came to a stop alongside some railings and doubled over, struggling to breathe.

Taking several deep, panting breaths, he vomited convulsively, throwing up everything in his stomach, and continued retching long after it was empty, bringing up only bile.

Finally, he stood up and looked around, wondering where he was…

and realised he was standing outside the park that had been his home for the past ten days.

Somehow, in his confused state his feet had carried him here, to a place he associated with sanctuary.

Relieved, he hauled himself over the railings and stumbled towards his old, familiar hiding place in the bushes.

He lay there for hours, gazing up at the cloudy night sky, still reeling from what had happened. All he could hear was Joe, yelling at him to go as he clutched Peter’s bloodied body in his arms, and then the sound of his inhuman howl, replaying on a never-ending loop.

He didn’t sleep; he couldn’t. He was in shock.

He wrapped his arms around his body and spent the entire night shaking.

At first, all he could think about was the horror of Peter’s murder, but as dawn’s first pale light began to filter through the trees, he realised he needed a plan.

He had very little money left, and he doubted the credit on his nanopad would last much longer, even if he knew anyone to contact.

That reminded him – he pulled the nanopad out of his pocket and made sure it was switched off, to retain the charge for as long as possible.

He desperately wanted to call Elsie and ask her whether somehow it was possible that Peter had made it, even though he knew in his heart that he was dead.

But there was nothing he could say to Elsie to comfort her about the loss of her friend, and no message he could pass on to Joe that would help.

He wondered where Lars was and how long he’d survive once Joe caught up with him.

Joe was a dangerous man who’d lost the love of his life – Alex was sure he’d go after Lars and exact vengeance.

Alex felt inextricably linked to the man he’d met only briefly, forever tied to him by the sheer magnitude of what they’d gone through.

They’d fought off Lars together, tried to save Peter together, and shared one short, horrific moment in time.

It’d created a connection between them. He wondered if, maybe, in a few days, he could call Elsie and ask if there was any chance of Joe’s help, but then realised how incredibly selfish it would be to make them worry about his welfare right now given their terrible loss.

No – he was on his own. He had to find his own way out of the country. He decided to make for the coast; he’d heard of sympathetic sea captains who smuggled escaped indies across the Channel. He had no idea how one found such people, or what they wanted in payment, but that was his only hope now.

As soon as it was fully light, he scrambled out of the bushes and left the park for the final time.

He didn’t have enough money for a coach fare, and he was wary of the CCTV cameras fitted on every mode of public transport, so he decided to walk to the coast. He spent most of what was left of his money on a meagre supply of food, ate a dismal breakfast by the duck pond, and then began walking.

He wasn’t sorry to leave West Wickham; he’d spent a miserable week here and one horrific night. It didn’t hold any good memories.

He walked all day, wishing he had proper walking boots instead of the fancy brogues that Lorenzo had chosen to complete his evening wear all those days ago.

His months spent in Vertex Tower seemed as if they belonged to a different life now – so much had happened since.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Peter, or block out the sound of Joe’s howling in his head, so he found a café with a big screen and went inside, spending the last of his money on a cup of tea so he could sit and watch the news and be warm for a while.

The news feed cycled for a few minutes, and then a picture of Peter came onscreen. Alex sat up and paid attention.

“Residents of West Wickham are still reeling from a brutal murder in Station Road last night,” the newsreader announced.

“Ex-army officer Captain Peter Hunt was stabbed to death as he sat in his distinctive Pre-R red Jaguar.” So Peter had been military – that made sense of Joe’s use of his old title, and the ironic salute.

“The motive behind the killing appears to be the theft of the vintage vehicle,” the newsreader continued.

That took him by surprise. He hadn’t given any thought as to how Joe would cover up the real reason they were in Station Road last night.

He pitied the grief-stricken man having to think up a good lie at such a terrible time.

A photo of a big man with neat brown hair parted in the middle was displayed onscreen, and for a moment Alex struggled to recognise him as the wild-eyed, bushy-bearded IS he’d met the night before.

“Escaped Indentured Servant Lars Driessen is being sought by Inquisitus Investigation Agency in connection with the killing,” the newsreader said. “Esther Lomax, director of Inquisitus, gave a press conference earlier today.”

A fierce-looking woman in a wheelchair appeared onscreen. She had short silvery-brown hair and sharp brown eyes.

“Lars Driessen is a very dangerous, desperate, and unpredictable man. If you see him, do not approach him – I repeat, do not approach him. Instead, contact us immediately.” Then the news item cut away to her answering questions.

“Is it true that the victim’s husband is an Inquisitus investigator?” a reporter demanded.

She nodded. “Peter Hunt was married to one of our investigators, Josiah Raine, who was with him last night at the time of the murder. Obviously, Josiah is on compassionate leave and is not working on this case. I’m taking charge of the investigation myself.

We have the murder weapon, and Josiah has given us a full account of what happened.

We’re not seeking anyone else in connection with this tragic incident. ”

Alex leaned forward as the news report segued to a shot of Josiah coming out of a house.

He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue sweater, and there was a black dog trotting along beside him, shooting him uncertain glances.

He clearly hadn’t slept – there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pinched with grief.

He didn’t make a statement to the press, despite them clamouring for his attention.

Alex didn’t blame him. The last thing Joe must have wanted was all those cameras outside his house at such a terrible time.

“Meanwhile, investigators are combing the crime scene for forensic evidence.” A shot of Station Road came up, focusing, with unnecessary zeal, on the blood stains on the pavement. The reporter interviewed a young woman who’d been a witness.

“I was talking with friends in the café over the road when we were aware of a fight going on in the fancy car. I saw this young guy running off… I don’t know if he was the one who killed that poor man…

” She pointed down the street in the direction Alex had run the previous night.

“I could see the body by the car – there was a lot of blood – and then the ambulance came, but we could all see it was too late.”

“Inquisitus would like to talk to a witness who was first on the scene, and who called the ambulance,” the reporter continued.

“He’s described as being around five-foot-ten, white, of slender build, and wearing a hooded sweatshirt and dark trousers.

If you have any information as to his whereabouts, please contact our hotline nym. ”

“Shit,” Alex muttered under his breath. It was bad enough that George Tyler was chasing him, but now a big IA was after him, too.

Suddenly, he was aware that the nanopad in his pocket was a liability.

If he turned it on, they might try and call him…

or they might be able to trace his location and find him.

He jumped up in a panic and ran out of the café, then sprinted to a nearby lost zone and threw the nanopad into the water, watching sadly as his last lifeline sank.

Now all of Solange’s escape kit was gone – no Elsie, no nanopad, and no money. He was well and truly on his own .

He continued his dull plod towards the coast, taking a long, circuitous route that kept him off the main roads and out of sight of people or CCTV as much as possible.

He slept in a church graveyard next to a moss-covered tombstone, in bushes, and in AV parks, all the time wishing he could have escaped during the summer instead of what was turning out to be a windy, rainy autumn.

His clothes never fully dried out, leaving him permanently damp, and he knew he smelled.

Soon, he’d probably smell as vile as Lars had.

The longer he kept walking and sleeping rough, the dirtier he became and the more conspicuous he was.

He hadn’t seen any of Tyler’s black SUAVs in a while, but after a few days of walking, he worried it was so obvious he was an escaped IS that he’d be picked up by any passing bounty hunter wanting to make a quick buck.

It’d be like Christmas come early for them when they turned him in, found out who he really was, and claimed Tyler’s inevitably handsome reward for his return.

Of course, Tyler had so far kept news of his escape quiet, and would no doubt wish to keep news of his return equally quiet – a large payout to any bounty hunter who returned him would secure their silence.