The Embers of Hope: A science-fiction thriller (Hibernation Series Book 2) Read online

  Zido felt her body swell with relief and knew, without question, that she would.

  Always.

  Chapter 11

  The screaming stopped around 3am and the bed started creaking ten minutes later. The couple would start drinking around 4pm, fight until the early hours, then screw, sleep and repeat.

  Nathan took a long breath and continued chewing through his memories. Since leaving India the question of what now? had faded steadily, lost its urgency as the months bled into years. There just wasn’t a clear what now? anymore. The first twelve months or so had been tough but he’d managed to keep going, continually updating his forged identity, drifting from place to place, holding down tech jobs that paid cash.

  His plan – if you could call it that – had been straightforward enough. He needed to balance his efforts. If he focussed purely on bringing Jennifer Logan back – and he wanted to, more than anything – he would run out of money, lose his identity and be captured quickly. He was also realistic. The chances of bringing her back were minimal.

  He initially concentrated on how best to use the information extracted from the vault in Russia. The files, stored on a small drive, never left his side. They placed Baden and the Government at the heart of a huge conspiracy. Jen had died retrieving them and Nathan fully intended to use the information to bring the whole fucking house down.

  His initial idea was to release the files out into the world, seed it on as many newsfeeds as possible and let the viral nature of a good story do its work. He almost did on two occasions, finger hovering over the button, but didn’t – or, rather, couldn’t.

  The documents might spread amongst the conspiracy theorists for a while and maybe even bubble to the surface. But then what? The spin doctors would work their magic and the ‘crazy stories’ would be discredited before Nathan knew what hit him. They were in charge, after all; they controlled the minds of the masses. In a world of Hibernation, even the ones with their eyes open were still asleep.

  He decided if he was going to break the story, he needed the weight of a name behind it, needed to find someone with political clout to believe in him, someone to help it rise above the churn of cover-ups. Then, and only then, would the evidence have a chance to land with enough traction. After months of searching, he finally found hope.

  Louis Grafton was a respected freelance journalist, a man Nathan had grown to trust in the few short weeks he’d known him. Grafton was in his late thirties and hungry for a story that would spark a revolution. People believed in him. It took Nathan a while to convince Grafton that the data was real – that it had come from the vault – but in the end, he believed him.

  Grafton was found hanged in his dining room the following day. The news reports blamed a failed marriage, but Nathan knew better, and after that the net closed in he was back on the run. The story never appeared; the machine had kicked in and Nathan was back to square one.

  The weeks that followed haunted him. Louis Grafton had given Nathan hope – perhaps his last chance at such a thing – and in the creeping darkness of his dreams he finally understood what Mohanty had meant: hope was a dangerous thing. Hope had let in light, but only to show him the nasty thing in the corner, the thing with the sharp teeth and red eyes. Then it slammed the door shut so all he could hear were his own screams in the blackened corners of his mind.

  Louis Grafton’s blood was on Nathan’s hands.

  He didn’t try again.

  He shifted tack and focussed on finding Zitagi. She could lead him up the chain, all the way to the top. If he could find her, he was convinced he would find his wife’s killer, too. It kept him occupied for a few more months, all the while running steadily out of money and losing focus. In the end he admitted the truth: she was a ghost, a Government shadow he would never find.

  He began to drift from town to town and noticed the expressions of people around him becoming distrustful, suspicious. He was running but always seemed to be slipping backwards, like a bad dream. He was tired of it all. Tired of pushing and hiding and never settling for longer than a few weeks at a time.

  Two years since leaving Mohanty. It was a long time without a friend, without anyone. Ideas buzzed around his head, scratching and colliding. He thought about Jen a lot, about bringing her back. If he could do that, then they would figure this out together. She would know what to do.

  But how many times could he start again? His inner voice spoke, it taunted him. Yes, it whispered, all you need is her DNA, someone who can use the Histeridae and a replicator. It will be easy.

  Even if he could get her DNA – something that felt almost achievable when he considered what they had managed in Russia – it would be pointless. The Histeridae was an enigma, and he wasn’t even sure there was a working replicator left on the planet, let alone in the UK. He thought of George and his years spent alone. Perhaps he was the smart one? George had gone back to square one and stayed there. Hiding away, not loving anyone, nothing to lose.

  Nathan stared at the ceiling, at a damp yellowing patch, which spread from its centre like cancer. Bedsprings above ground out their steady rhythm. The woman moaned and the man grunted. It was make-up sex to the tune of poverty.

  Nathan was surprised when a smile stretched across his face but then realised he was going to cry. The tears buzzed and his chest tightened. There was nothing he could do. He let it out, heaving, heavy and guttural. His sobs joined the wretched grunts of the couple above him. A cacophony of human emotions, desperate lives searching for solace in a world that didn’t know that it was the one getting fucked.

  I give up, his mind whispered gently as he drifted off to sleep, I can’t do this anymore.

  * * *

  Nathan woke to the sound of an alarm: a sharp noise coming from his security monitor. It was 6am and just light outside. He could hear footsteps and whispers in the walls around him. He jerked up and ran to his screen. The automated alert had done its job. Outside was a Hibernation Enforcement Unit, or Reds, as they were known. Nathan wasn’t sure why they were called Reds. He suspected it was because of the polished crimson badges on their breastplates or perhaps their use of distinctive red weaponry, but either way, they were here and that was bad.

  He glanced out the window. Four vans, at least ten armed officers. If Duality were the investigate arm of Hibernation enforcement, Reds were the steel-capped boot. They didn’t take kindly to people like him, citizens who sidestepped the system. Even homeless bums had to do their bit for the planet. The punishment would be two years in the block; Hibernation with ageing. His eyes were sore; they were trying to close and his bed, although filthy, was somehow calling him to just sink back into its warm embrace.

  He almost did, but something inside him still worked, still believed it was worth living another day. He wondered at times like these if it could be the Histeridae – with Jen locked inside – urging him on. It was impossible to know.

  As the Reds moved in, Nathan stuffed his belongings into a bag and walked out into the corridor. His room – as basic and filthy as all the rest – was paid for by the week, and it was time to move on.

  His personal security had slipped recently but he had, at least planned a rough escape route, the simple alarm offering a small head start. The stairwell brought him out on level two and from there he used a staff room to exit onto the street.

  Nathan merged with a small group of city workers who were striding at pace towards their places of work, distracted and in a hurry. Hidden from view, he made it past two Reds and across the street before he heard the amplified order to stop.

  The people around him obeyed. Nathan’s heart banged fresh fear into his temples. The sun filled his eyes and he hunched lower inside the suited protection of the bodies surrounding him. If the Reds scanned him, he was finished. They kept changing the rules. Since returning to London his ID had needed updating three times. He was still able to move freely around the streets, and on public transport, but closer inspection would reveal discrepancies. The
Reds would check their systems, frown suspiciously and then take him in for questioning. Once there, it wouldn’t take them long to piece together his trail of fraud, perhaps right back to the schoolteacher he was in a previous life and his body swap.

  He waited, but the officer who had barked the order to stop wasn’t facing him. There was a sudden burst of excitement near the entrance of the building and Nathan recognised the targets instantly. It was the couple from the room above him, the early-morning screwers.

  The man was short and athletic-looking. He was dragging his girlfriend, who looked scared but viciously determined. Nathan had spotted them a few times but never made eye contact. He tried not to speak to anyone. It was better that way.

  The couple were running now, hand in hand, pushing and shoving through the crowds of people. One of the Reds shouted again, ‘Stop or we will shoot!’

  That seemed to get the attention of the crowd. Some had been gawping, mouths open, others had been ignoring the situation completely, their minds elsewhere, connected and busy. Now they peeled away, letting out a nervous crescendo of screams, parting like water in the wake of a speedboat. The couple pressed on.

  People gasped as one of the officers, dressed in black combat attire, tossed a chrome-plated disc into the air. Three red blades of light sprung from the disc and began spinning to a blur. It hovered momentarily before accelerating towards its target. It flew low and to the right of the couple, passing them and then snagging the girl’s feet with a whip of red fire.

  The couple’s hands were pulled apart and the girl fell, a shrill cry escaping her as she hit the floor, legs wrapped in crackling red beams. The disc whizzed past and closed in on her boyfriend. He looked back once but continued running and was whooping, Nathan realised, actually whooping like a madman. The disc ejected a cloud of gas that smothered the area below in a milky haze. Again the crowd gasped and screamed.

  They needn’t have worried; the targeted pathogen would have no effect on them. The whooping man, however – who just seconds ago had been animated and energetic – collapsed with a sickening slap, as if his bones had been removed instantaneously from his body. He smacked, face-first like wet dough onto the tarmac.

  ‘Serves them right,’ a woman next to Nathan said. ‘Bloody Hiber-dodgers, the lot of them.’

  Nathan stared at the floor.

  ‘I said it serves them right,’ she repeated, more forcefully this time.

  Nathan nodded, but could feel her eyes on him. She was well dressed, a city worker, and seemed the type who might draw attention to someone suspicious, particularly a vagrant who didn’t instantly agree with her political views.

  ‘They deserve it,’ he offered, voice thin from lack of use. ‘Don’t see why they should get away with it when we have to hibernate.’

  He backed away from the woman, who tilted her head in apparent confusion but then thankfully seemed to re-engage with her planned day ahead. He found a vantage point across the street and watched the proceedings through a layer of streaming traffic.

  The Reds were wrapping up business and seemed pleased with their catch. They marched fifteen souls into a large transporter. Nathan saw the couple again. The man was first, carried on a stretcher, his body twitching a little. The girl was last. She was attractive, with long brown hair and good bone structure, but her language let her down. She was cursing and spitting at her captors. It wouldn’t make any difference. She and her volatile boyfriend were heading for the block where their minds would be adjusted to ensure compliance.

  An officer banged the rear door of the craft and seconds later it rose in a cloud of vapour – up and up until it reached altitude and zipped away, leaving a trail of shimmering blue light.

  Chapter 12

  Alex Green felt panic building up from his feet and crashing through him like an eruption of cold steel. He wanted to scream but could find no voice, no way of escaping the death-like stillness that encased him. He couldn’t remember why he was here, buried in the darkness of his mind. Visions came in blurred shapes; memories pulled through a veil appeared but then were gone, like ghouls drifting in an endless mist. There was an awareness of being and he was convinced he was being watched.

  He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t.

  He was cold, freezing cold.

  Was he dead? Or dying? Had he been buried alive? He searched his mind, trying to remember.

  I was in an accident, he thought. That’s it. I’m in hospital. Plugged into a machine. I’m in a coma.

  No, Alex. Try to relax. Try to remember.

  It was a soothing voice, somewhere far in the distance, a whisper in the wind. He called out, pleading, explaining that he was lost, that he didn’t understand. The voice came again, closer this time. That’s when he realised it was his own.

  You are Hibernating. It’s not forever. Try to stay calm.

  Floating.

  Was it a month later, or a minute? It was impossible to tell, but there was light now. Flickering yellow, like sun through heavy leaves swaying in a summer breeze above him. He was warmer. He was alive and his mind was becoming clearer.

  Don’t tell them anything, his voice warned.

  ‘Who?’ he asked, his mouth moving without sound. ‘Don’t tell who?’

  There was a sudden rush of light. It reminded him of a train ride he had taken as a child, bursting from a tunnel into a brilliant white summer. The transition was breath-taking.

  Alex tried to cough but couldn’t. He tried to swallow. The same. He shook his head, convulsing backward, lurching into movement. He felt his lips parting, dry and cracked. Something was moving, pushing from inside. He felt his neck swell. Something was sliding out of him, like a thick snake. He tried to scream as the creature accelerated and popped from his mouth.

  He took a sudden and painful breath, his first natural breath for nearly a year, and tried to lift his hand to his face. His arms didn’t respond; they were strapped to his sides.

  A voice spoke to him, close and robotic. ‘You are safe and well,’ it assured him. ‘Try to relax. You are emerging from Hibernation. These feelings will pass.’

  Alex remembered similar words from his previous cycle but was sure he hadn’t felt like this. Sensations were returning to his body in tiny lightning storms. His legs were stiff, his eyes sore and his fingers burned. There was a throbbing, a bone-deep ache from his neck right down to the base of his spine. It was like a bad case of flu.

  ‘I don’t feel right.’ he managed, voice thin and weak. ‘There’s something wrong.’

  The droid placed a warm hand on his shoulder and assured him. ‘You have been accelerated and are emerging a day earlier than planned. Acclimatisation takes a few hours. After that, your discomfort will pass quickly.’

  ‘A day early…’ he managed. ‘Why?’

  The droid processed the question. ‘You will be briefed fully.’

  Alex felt a scratch on his arm and opened his eyes. The room was a blur of sliver and blue. ‘What was that?’ he hissed.

  ‘For the pain,’ the droid replied. ‘Try to remain calm.’

  Alex remembered everything now, a complete sense of everything, which arrived in a single burst of understanding. It was a relief, but that feeling didn’t last long.

  There had been a warning while he slept. He had experienced awareness during Hibernation, heard his own voice telling him to keep his mouth shut.

  A plastic cup was pressed into his hand and he realised his arms were free. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of the warm, sweet fluid. He felt it travel down his tender throat and spread in a warm, blossoming explosion in his gut.

  He had no idea what the warning meant, but he knew one thing for sure. His third Hibernation cycle had not been a restful one. He had been aware for brief moments of it, and that meant he was in big trouble.

  Chapter 13

  Victor Reyland ground his teeth until his jaw creaked like ice on the move. All the years of preparation, billions of people under cont
rol and still the leaks kept popping like corks from a badly repaired hull.

  He paged Phillips and waited. His office was cold, the air conditioning humming along like they were in a heat wave. He liked his body fighting for warmth; it was good, kept it keen and healthy. He looked out over London and tapped the sheet glass in a steady rhythm. The door opened and Agent Daryll Phillips entered the room.

  Reyland said, ‘The fallout from the journalist continues to be a problem. I want it contained.’

  ‘We have six suspects in custody, Sir,’ Phillips replied.

  ‘It’s too late for them.’

  ‘I understand,’ Phillips replied calmly. ‘What about the… wider implications?’

  ‘If you take prisoners, hibernate them in the block.’ He paused for moment. ‘And if they don’t respond, kill them.’

  Reyland dismissed Phillips, walked to his desk and sank back into his chair. He considered the talented field agent. He was reliable, ambitious and physically intimidating, had steadily risen through the ranks and managed to avoid putting any noses out of joint. That was no mean feat. Yet there was something that bothered Reyland about him, something that always had. The way Phillips smiled, like a boy with a new gun who had just been told he could kill anything and everything that moved. It had been momentary, but Reyland didn’t miss a thing, and that fleeting expression told him a great deal. Killing might be a necessary function of his job, but Victor had never enjoyed it, not in the way Phillips seemed to.

  He thought of Zitagi. She was his best agent and over the years he had deliberately played her against Phillips. The incident at the Shiryaevo vault though, had put all his plans for her on hold.

  He opened his drawer and pulled out the bottle – a Yamazaki twenty-five-year single malt, Japanese, in her honour. He hardly ever drank alcohol but today was a celebration. It was three years, almost to the day, since Zitagi had royally fucked herself. She had killed Jennifer Logan – a high-value target – lost the Histeridae and allowed an explosion that had ripped the vault open for the world to see. Once it became an international incident there was little he could do. Until now. A lesson had been required to ensure that the powers above him didn’t recognise his weakness. Zitagi had taken her punishment well, and it was time to welcome her back from purgatory.