Igor smiled and raised his hand as Gregor’s vehicle ascended. A horrible false smile. The type he’d seen Igor use when interrogating people with his knife. Igor’s modus operandi was strapping somebody to a chair and playing tic-tac-toe on their face. He’d gone lightly on Ben, but left his unmistakable fingerprint.
As the bike lifted above the warehouses, hugging the farmed land, Gregor gazed at the distant orange haze. Thoughts of Layla’s revelations spun through his mind.
He had too many moving parts to consider. Jackson, Igor, Augustus, the croatoans. Removing two of them would bring more clarity.
They zipped away from the farm. Alex stood by a tractor in the paddock, throwing food to the livestock. She looked up and they passed. Gregor saluted.
The plan was to land half a mile away from the shelter and move quickly along the riverbank. Zero tolerance against anything that shifted. The same policy applied to Ben if he was found to be lying.
Gregor glanced across to the two bikes, flying next to his in formation. Marek looked across and returned a nod. Ben’s eyes were shut tight, he hunched behind the croatoan rider, turning his face against the rush of wind.
Ahead, the river came into view, like a large brown snake, winding through the overgrown land into the distance.
Rain started to fall, tinkling against the bike’s metal as it powered through the sky. A minute later they reached the river, momentarily hovering above it, before lowering onto a thick grass bank. A couple of birds took flight from the undergrowth.
Ben jumped off the back of his bike and unsteadily walked to a tree. He leant against in and doubled over. A long trail of saliva hung from his mouth as he dry retched a couple of times.
A dead spotted redshank caught Gregor’s eye after he dismounted. He walked closer to inspect it. Its feathers were coated by a stringy paste. The river slowly flowed past like a large foamy beer. He rubbed a greasy fern between his fingers. The change was becoming more rapid. Gregor just hadn’t been noticing the little things. Now they had his full attention.
The croatoans stood in a circle, tick-tocking away.
Marek patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
IGOR WATCHED until all three specks disappeared into the distance. This was his chance to cement a place as number one in Augustus’s eyes. To raid Jackson’s den and bring back information, or better still, kill him. He’d do what the boss had failed to manage.
Gregor was past it. Ten years was long enough being in the tin-pot Armenian’s gang. It was time for Igor to run the show. Augustus had already verbally promised him the job; there’d been too many mistakes. Harvester damage, livestock escapes, and dead croatoans: it all added up and it was time to pay.
Augustus informed him yesterday that Gregor would be taken on a one-way trip to the forest. Left for animals to nibble on his stinking corpse. These things were best done in private.
Layla, Vlad and Alex were still required and would all have to fall in line. The croatoans wouldn’t give a shit.
Igor waved toward the barracks. His croatoan rider exited the door and took its position on the hover-bike. He held a map forwards and pointed to a location. The alien punched in coordinates on its tablet, before clicking it into place above the handlebars.
The bike drifted over the warehouses for a couple of minutes. They had to wait for the shuttle to take off. The brilliant blue craft shot into the sky. Its six pink rings glowing against the gray clouds, before slipping through them, out of sight.
Below, the little surveyors left their barracks and headed to the chocolate factory. That would be the first thing Igor renamed. Gregor and his stupid nicknames. He should have had more respect for his masters.
They cruised over Gregor’s office. Much better than a shed. Soon the whole place would be Igor’s. He hadn’t decided on whether to take Alex or Layla first.
He tapped the croatoan’s shoulder.
The alien jabbed its head to one side. He rolled his finger around, trying to signal an increase in pace. “Faster, faster.”
No response.
Sedately traveling over trees gave Igor a better view of their immediate surroundings. If he was going to be boss, it was a good chance to see potential looting spots. Overgrown buildings with trails leading from them or signs of smoke drifting out of the forest. Both signs of habitation.
After spotting two thin streams of smoke curling out of the trees, he looked back to the farm to orientate their positions. Only a few miles away. He’d treat survivors like the hag near the ambush site, they had no value unless young enough to process.
The bike lowered in a clearing, not quite at the specified location, but close enough. Igor recognized the vague broken lines of a tennis court. Shrubs and weeds filled the cracks brought on from age and ice. Remains of a rotting net stretched across the middle, raised by bush. A rusty chain link fence surrounded the court, half smothered in ivy. The bottom of it had mostly broken away, and curled upwards. Only two sections remained in place.
Igor slipped a compass out of his pocket and checked his map against the tablet location. Just under a mile north.
“I’ll be back in half an hour,” Igor said.
The croatoan ignored him.
“Whatever,” he whispered to himself as he checked his watch.
He pulled up a section of the fence and ducked underneath. The forest was dark ahead. It suited his approach. Stealthily moving from tree to tree, keeping a close eye on his bearing, Igor made quick progress.
After ten minutes, he sensed he was getting close and slowed to a deliberate creep. Placing his feet away from any twigs or branches. Revolver to the front.
Igor crouched behind a large rock and searched the woodland. Ben directed him to this spot. If this was a wild goose chase, he vowed to beat the little shit’s brains out.
Through the gloom Igor saw it. A dark slit, slightly raised off the forest floor. A man-made entrance. Charlie Jackson wasn’t as clever as he thought. A couple of obvious trails led to the opening.
He waited five minutes. Observing, searching for signs of movement. The place appeared to be deserted. If Jackson or his bastard weren’t around, some of his supplies or any available clues to his whereabouts would have to do.
Igor moved around the side of the shelter, and edged forward, aiming at entrance.
From a distance it looked like a small hump, blending in with the surrounding forest floor. Up close, steep dirt steps were cut into the ground, leading into what was probably a bunker. Igor thought about shouting a threat, but decided against it. If anyone was here, he’d take them by surprise.
He crouched, listened by the entrance. Not a sound from the inside. Trees rustled above in the gentle breeze.
Igor leaned around the corner, peered down. Holding his revolver through the entrance, he started to climb down.
A loud bang filled his ears. He felt searing pain in his right knee. Igor instantly buckled to the ground, dropping his revolver, and sliding down the steps.
He desperately fumbled in the dark. A boot stamped on his wrist.
A shotgun barrel pushed against his cheek.
Through the gloom, Gregor’s face appeared. “Say goodnight, you Russian fuck-rat.”
Igor groaned. “Wait. I wasn’t here to kill you. I followed and came to warn you.”
Gregor forced the barrel harder against his check. “Stop lying. It’s over. Your only mistake was thinking you were smarter than me.”
Igor had seen Gregor in this kind of mood a hundred times. There would be no stay of execution. “Get it over with. You’re a dead man anyway. A ship’s coming to complete the process. Augustus told me—”