little pit bull Notori-us was one of them, charging across like a rabid dog let off a leash, drawing fire and spinning like a cartwheel as he went down. If a few more of his boys had been equally fired-up and been following in his wake they probably would have made it across and already overrun those bitches on the far side by now.
‘So, boys. We need to figure out a way across that. They’ve got it covered.’
Snoop looked around the cluttered deck. Most of the boys were up here now, clustered in groups amongst the Portakabins and looking anxiously at him and Maxwell to figure out something for them. Snoop’s eye rested on a supermarket shopping trolley knocked over on its side, spilling its load of plastic seed trays filled with compost and little green shoots of something-or-other across the deck.
‘Got an idea, Chief.’
Chapter 84
10 years AC
‘LeMan 49/25a’ - ClarenCo Gas Rig Complex, North Sea
With no one firing right now, the only light was coming from the moon. Adam squinted to see what was going on on the far end of the walkway.
‘See anything?’ asked Leona, crouched beside him.
‘Those buggers are up to something, no doubt.’
His gaze swept either side of the far end of the walkway. He could see the occasional head popping up from behind cover and ducking down again.
He dropped back, resting against an exhaust bell. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry, we screwed up.’
Jenny hunkered down beside him. She pressed her lips together and smiled. ‘Don’t be, you’ve done all you could.’
Leona was still studying the far side. She couldn’t see anything now that the firing had ceased, just flitting silver moonlight across the deck, cabins and pipes. ‘They seem totally fearless,’ she uttered. ‘Afraid of nothing.’
‘They’re boys, it’s all just a big game to them,’ replied Adam.
‘They remind me of the gangs that were partying in London. Were you in London during the week of the crash?’
‘I was. We were manning the dome’s perimeter.’
‘You must have seen your share of the riots?’
‘Oh yeah . . . we saw a lot of that.’
‘I still have nightmares,’ said Leona. ‘Teenage boys stabbing, shooting, raping.’ She nodded. ‘You’re right, it was some sort of a game to them . . . like some bloody computer game.’
‘Young men never change. Two powerful ingredients at work inside them: the arrogance of youth and testosterone. Mix those two with a dose of anarchy, and yeah, they’ll want to party.’
‘Party . . . part-eee,’ Leona whispered and shuddered.
‘Truth is, they’re still just boys,’ he continued. ‘Just boys. If you can get them to shut up and sit still for five minutes and actually listen to you, they quickly become children again.’
Leona made a face. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Seriously, Leona. They’re just kids. You forget, I know them. I’ve lived with them for years. They’re children. It’s just that that crazy twat Maxwell has indoctrinated them into thinking they’re super-soldiers.’
‘Right,’ said Jenny. ‘Just kids. They just need someone to pull their trousers down and smack their legs.’
Adam laughed. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe we should—’
‘SIR!’ it was Bushey. ‘There’s something on the walkway!’
Adam grabbed his gun and poked his head above the locker. He could see movement, something wobbling towards them. He could hear a tinny rattling now, getting louder.
‘Torch! Someone get a torch on it!’
Walfield snapped one on and aimed it down inside the wire cage of the walkway.
‘Fuck!! That’s . . . that’s Harry!!’
Adam squinted. It was. It was Harry, straddling what looked like a shopping trolley. ‘HARRY?’ shouted Bushey. ‘Mate? You all right?’
Rattling closer to them, Adam could see that he wasn’t riding it; he was stuffed onto the shopping trolley like some home-made Guy Fawkes, tied on. Clearly dead. He was perched on top of another body. And another.
‘He’s already dead!’ said Adam.
The trolley was halfway across now, and craning his neck to look down the length of the walkway’s cage he could just about see around the side of the shopping trolley; dozens of legs and bobbing orange jackets crouched stealthily behind it, trailing all the way back to the far side of the walkway.
Oh shit-shit-shit.
‘It’s a shield. They’re right behind it. FIRE!!’
Bushey turned to him. ‘It’s Harry! We can’t—’
‘He’s dead already! FIRE!!’
Walfield opened up on the trolley, his bullets thudding into the stacked corpses. Harry’s body rocked lifelessly as puffs of crimson and shreds of shirt erupted from his chest. From either side of the walkway, those armed with catapults launched their projectiles at the wire caging. Most of their nuts and bolts