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Kev ran at the door and pushed it open.

  Cries of, “They’re coming out! They’re coming!” rose up from the crowd and, in the light from the porch, Michael saw them surge forward.

  Michael willed the bedsheets into the air and pushed them through the open door.

  The crowd didn’t know what to make of the ghost-like ball floating towards them and they backed off.

  A missile – probably another stone – narrowly missed Kev’s head as it whizzed through the door, hit the floor and bounced harmlessly away.

  Michael willed the sheets to separate and fly out into the crowd. The people shouted and screamed as the white apparitions danced among them like ghosts released from hell.

  The sheets succeeded in edging the protestors out of the way to clear a path from the door.

  Michael walked out first as a protestor grabbed hold of Kev’s shirt. Another pulled at his arm. Someone else grabbed his head.

  Michael was helpless as he was dragged from the door and disappeared into the throng of people. All he could hear was the sound of Kev’s cries.

  But he had done enough and the perceivers were getting out of the building – one at a time, as that was all the single doorway would allow.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw a flash of flame sail past him and heard the crash of glass and the whoompf of erupting flames.

  Petrol bomb! screamed the thoughts of many perceivers; so loud that Michael lost concentration for a moment and lost control of the sheets. They floated, unbidden, in the night air. One descended on a protestor and they grappled with it as it covered their head and wrapped around their arms.

  Michael’s thoughts reached out to re-take as many of the sheets as he could and brought them deliberately down on the protestors, as perceivers ran past.

  The lights of burning torches were lit one by one around him.

  Not torches.

  More petrol bombs.

  This had to be the ‘something’ Pauline had perceived they had been regrouping for.

  He heard a glass bottle break behind him. Followed by another. The light from the instant fire caused his body to cast a shadow along his escape path.

  Michael ran.

  His mind relinquished control of the sheets and they floated in the wind. One caught the flame of a newly lit petrol bomb as it descended. A woman was suddenly engulfed in flames.

  Michael heard her desperate screams as he fled. But there was nothing he could do and he kept running.

  Michael got to the truck park to find the other perceivers waiting. Their presence had triggered the security light and the array of green-painted jeeps, troop transporters and equipment trucks could be seen in regimental rows behind them.

  Pauline was suddenly at his side. “What happened?” she said.

  Michael turned round. The orange light of the fire that consumed Galen House flickered on the horizon.

  He just shook his head. He had no words.

  “Where’s Kev?” said Pauline.

  “He got dragged away by the protestors,” said Michael. “I couldn’t reach him.”

  Norm, red-faced and breathing heavily, jogged up from behind them. In his hand, he held a set of jangling keys. “I don’t think anyone was planning for someone to try to break into the key store in the middle of the night,” he said.

  Despite the danger, Michael perceived Norm was excited. Even elated. It was a long time since the soldier had seen action that didn’t involve shouting at teenagers.

  Michael hadn’t even thought about the keys to the truck being locked up somewhere. He was glad Norm had.

  “Everyone here?” said Norm, looking around at the rag-tag collection of perceivers huddled under the security light, some in their regulation grey T-shirts and trousers, others still in their nightclothes. Even Agent Cooper was there, partly camouflaged against the night in his black suit.

  “Kev’s not out yet,” said Pauline.

  Michael felt a pang of guilt that stuck in his throat as he said the words. “We can’t wait for him.”

  “Yes, we can,” said Pauline.

  She pointed. Back on the road that led from Galen House, a stocky figure silhouetted against the fiery glow was half running, half limping towards them.

  Behind him swarmed a mass of protestors. Protestors who were not injured and able to run faster.

  “He’s not going to make it,” said Michael.

  “Yes, he is,” said Norm.

  The sergeant reached under his jacket to reveal a gun holster strapped to his belt. He pulled out his pistol and, with one swift action slid back the barrel to load the first bullet. He pointed the gun to the sky.

  The sky cracked with a single gunshot.

  Kev, the protestors and the perceivers shuddered at the sudden noise.

  Kev kept running, but the mob slowed.

  “Come on, Kev!” screamed Pauline.

  As he struggled to get closer, clutching his leg as he limped, his face became visible in the security light. The dark patches on his cheeks were not shadows, but bruises.

  Norm the Norm took two steps towards the crowd. “Stay back!” he ordered. He fired another bullet over their heads. They ducked and stopped. One or two of them even stepped back.

  “Agent Cooper!” Norm yelled. He held out the keys to his side. “Get the engine started. It’s the transporter with the number plate ending FBG.”

  Cooper approached and put his hand around the keys Norm was holding.

  But Norm didn’t immediately let go. “Get the base commander back on the phone,” he said, quietly. “Make sure she tells the guards on the gate that there’ll be consequences if they don’t let us through.”

  Norm allowed Cooper to take the keys and he ran over to the parked vehicles.

  Kev stumbled past Norm and almost collapsed as, in his relief, he put too much weight on his injured leg. Pauline half caught him, half slowed his fall as he stopped running.

  “Michael,” said Norm. “Get the perceivers onto the transporter.”

  “Yes, sir!” said Michael, and this time he was pleased to say it.

  A diesel engine rumbled to life not far behind him. He followed the sound to the transporter with the number plate ending FBG. “Come on, everyone on board. Quickly.”

  The perceivers didn’t have to be told twice. Some of the bigger ones hauled themselves up into the back of what was effectively a small truck with benches down each side. Once in, they reached down and helped some of the smaller ones to get in.

  All the while, Norm faced the protestors alone, with his gun pointing out towards them. As Michael approached, he saw some of their faces and perceived some of their minds. They were uncertain. Their chanting had stopped and the reality of the gunshots had done much to temper their resolve. Even so, among them, were people with their faces covered by scarves and hats pulled down low towards their eyes. Some of them, he was sure, were soldiers stationed at the base and he could tell by the way their jackets looked bulky, that underneath they wore bullet-proof vests.

  “We’re ready,” Michael told Norm.

  Norm, without taking his eyes off the protestors, passed over the gun. “Take this,” he said. “Bill Cooper won’t know how to drive a truck, not judging by the way he drives that swanky car he goes about in.”

  Michael took the handle of the gun. It was warm from Norm’s grip and slightly damp from his sweat. “I thought you didn’t have access to any weapons,” he said.

  “It’s my personal sidearm,” said Norm. “Don’t fire it if you don’t have to. But if you have to, don’t hesitate.”

  “It’s my personal sidearm,” said Norm. “Don’t fire it if you don’t have to. But if you have to, don’t hesitate.”

  Norm ran towards the truck, leaving Michael to face the mob alone.

  There were more than twenty of them. Some held unlit torches, others gripped things in their fists which could be stones and one held a cricket bat. But what had once been an angry mob had turned into a reticent gat
hering. Michael could feel their uncertainty as they looked at the lone perceiver facing them. Several took a tentative step forward.

  Michael raised Norm’s gun and wrapped his index finger around the trigger.

  The crowd stopped. Their uncertainty grew. At the back, a few people peeled off and disappeared into the night.

  But the man at the front, with a scarf tied around his face and a woollen hat pulled down over his forehead, stood his ground. The only part of him visible under his black clothing were a pair of light brown eyes. They stared at Michael with unwavering determination as he held an unlit torch up at his shoulder like a club ready to strike.

  He was a soldier, Michael could perceive it.

  The soldier reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter. He flicked a tiny flame into life and brought it close to the head of the torch. I’m not going to let the army I love be destroyed by perceivers, he thought, as fire engulfed the torch.

  Michael aimed Norm’s gun between the soldier’s eyes. “Don’t,” he said.

  “Why? Are you going to shoot me, perceiver?” said the soldier.

  Michael remembered Norm’s words: Don’t fire it if you don’t have to. But if you have to, don’t hesitate. “Are you willing to bet your life that I’m not?”

  The soldier stood ready with the burning torch, the light of its orange flames catching the flecks of hazel in the brown of his eyes. Michael stared deep into them and saw a memory of one of the soldier’s friends laying in a pool of blood with his face blown off by a bullet to the head. The soldier – even though he stood his ground – knew what damage a bullet could do and had no intension of provoking Michael into shooting him.

  The roar of a diesel engine broke their stand off as the truck pulled up alongside Michael. He perceived Norm and Agent Cooper were inside.

  “Get in the back with the others,” said Norm through the open driver’s window.

  Michael backed away, keeping his gun facing forwards at the soldier, until he was at rear of the truck. Stepping sideways, so the vehicle was between him and the soldier, he tucked Norm’s gun into his belt.

  The canvas flaps that served as doors to the soft-top were open and the faces of the other perceivers looked out at him. Two strong hands pulled him up and he collapsed onto his knees on the hard, metal floor of the vehicle. Someone banged on the inside partition that separated the driver’s section from the back and the truck drove off.

  As it passed by the remaining protestors, a flaming projectile was thrown into the back. Perceivers’ screams erupted as the burning torch clanged onto the metal floor. Michael wrapped his mind around it and willed it out the back where the ball of flame fell, harmlessly, onto the road.

  Michael stamped on the few bits of dry grass and debris which were burning on the floor and snuffed them out. Looking out of the back of the truck, he saw a human figure clothed in black run across the road and knew that the soldier had committed his one last act of defiance.

  Michael pulled Norm’s gun from out of his belt, but they were already leaving the group of protestors behind. The dwindling crowd shouted abuse, but it was half hearted. They had already achieved their victory: as could be seen behind them in the fire that raged through Galen House.

  Michael looked around the packed benches for somewhere to sit.

  “There’s room here,” said Kev, tapping the seat next to him.

  Kev was sitting right at the end of the bench near the back with a little bit of space reserved next to him. Michael squeezed himself onto it.

  He looked around to check everyone was okay. Pauline was on the same bench as him, sitting awkwardly at the other end with her body wedged up against the back partition. Katya sat on the opposite bench with her head leant back against the side and her eyes closed. The way she sat made her bump stick out even further than usual. At least they were both safe.

  The truck went through the barrier at the main gate without incident and entered the dark and bumpy minor road outside. Michael perceived how the agitation of his fellow perceivers had calmed a little, despite a lingering unease.

  How did he make the bedsheets fly? said their thoughts.

  He did it with his mind.

  Perceivers can’t do that.

  I heard there’s some that can.

  Michael shut out their thoughts and turned away. He glanced across at Kev.

  Kev looked bloody awful. The bruises on his face had started to turn purple and one of his eyes was bloodshot.

  “How are you doing?” Michael asked him.

  “I’ll live,” said Kev.

  “I saw what happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you.”

  Kev shook his head as if to say he shouldn’t be sorry. “They stopped kicking me when you started attacking them with bedsheets. I doubt they saw that coming.”

  Michael grinned. “It’s my sleeper weapon.”

  Kev laughed. Then he winced and wrapped his arms round his ribs.

  “We need to get you to a doctor when we get to where we’re going,” said Michael.

  “Wherever the hell that is,” said Kev.

  Michael supposed it was up to Norm.

  He glanced out of the open back of the truck. The burning glow of Galen House was no longer visible. He could only see the little bit of the road behind them, as it was lit by the red of the truck’s rear lights, and the ghostly outline of trees against the night sky. The wind that flapped at the sides had made his left arm and leg go numb with the cold. At first, the breeze had been nice after the heat of their escape, but now he was starting to shiver.

  Kev nudged him. “What’s the story with the pregnant woman?”

  Michael looked over to where Katya was sitting. Her eyes were open now and she was talking to the girl sitting next to her. He watched as Katya allowed the girl to put her hands on her belly and then her eyes went wide with amazement as she must have felt the baby kick inside.

  “It’s complicated,” said Michael.

  “She’s Russian, isn’t she?” said Kev. “She thinks she’s carrying a perceiver baby.”

  “How did you …?”

  “Anyone brought into Galen House is going to be perceived, you know that. Especially a norm.”

  “Then you know everything,” said Michael.

  “I know you’re the one who had her brought here. So, I’m wondering, is it your baby?”

  “No!” said Michael. “Of course not. Why do people keep asking me that?”

  “I heard that when the Russians caught you a few years back, it was because they wanted to find out how to make perceivers of their own. I bet the Russians know all about the natural borns and how the perception gene can be passed from a parent to a child.”

  The half of Michael’s body not already chilled by the outside air turned cold. He remembered his conversation with Agent Cooper where he had discussed what happened to him when Doctor Lucas drugged him in Russia. Michael had been unconscious throughout, but the speculation was that Lucas had taken genetic samples from him. “Have you been perceiving Agent Cooper too?”

  “I may have,” said Kev. “I saw a lot of him after Peter died. He was even nice to me, if you can believe it.”

  “But that was three years ago,” said Michael. “They can’t still be using … whatever it was they got from me.”

  “Sperm can be frozen for years, Michael. If I were you, I would think about taking a paternity test.”

  Michael glanced back across at Katya. She now had another couple of girls clustered round her who were taking it in turns to feel her baby kick. A baby who had to have been conceived with a mother and a father, even if that conception had taken place in a test tube.

  Fifteen

  Michael sat on a bench at Tidworth barracks and listened to the distant sounds of a sergeant barking at recruits as their boots hit the hard ground in unison. It was a crisp, clear day and even the sun poked out from between the clouds every so often. Despite being low in the sky because of the season, it wa
s enough to warm his face.

  Norm the Norm had driven to the military installation because it had barracks usually reserved for first year army recruits which he knew were not currently in use. He also knew someone there, who knew someone else, who was prepared to let in a truckload of refugee perceivers.

  By the time the truck got there, it was the early hours of the morning and all anyone wanted to do was sleep. That, of course, was the last thing they were able to do after the night they had had. Even with shutting the perceptions of everyone else completely out of his head, Michael found that he still had his own thoughts to contend with. If sleep came at all, it was in small dozy patches.

  They got up in the morning to the sound of Norm the Norm bringing spare items of uniform for the people who had escaped in only their pyjamas and bathrobes. It was khaki army uniform, not the greys like the Perceiver Corps wore, but it covered them up and kept them warm which was all that mattered. He also managed to requisition toothbrushes, toothpaste, flannels, soap and some towels for them all to have a good wash. Michael took the opportunity to have a shower, but he could still smell the soot of burning Galen House in his hair. Afterwards, he pulled a large military coat out of the pile of uniform bits and pieces and went outside to get some air.

  The layout of the grass area with its perimeter fence, the collection of buildings and the roads that snaked around the complex was in a different configuration to the base they had left, but the elements were the same. Like waking up in a hotel room in a different town, it was familiar even though he had never been there before.

  The loneliness of the outside, where the only minds were distant and fluttered like butterflies at the edge of his perception, was disturbed by the distinctive approach of Agent Cooper’s worried thoughts.

  Michael turned to see Cooper looking somewhat dishevelled. His suit looked like he had slept in it – which, given the circumstances, was highly likely – and there was a day’s worth of stubble on his chin. He waved when he saw Michael watching him and joined him on the bench.

  “I was told I would find you here,” said Cooper.

  “You were told right,” said Michael.