Coldbrook (Hammer)(141)

‘Any more?’ Drake asked.

Holly sat back against the wall and looked at him from under drooping eyelids. ‘Ask Moira,’ she said. And then they came close and she blacked out, allowing unconsciousness to claim her now that, perhaps, she was safe.

When Holly came to, Drake’s wife Paloma was kneeling beside her, tending her wound, frowning in concentration.

Holly hissed in pain and Paloma glanced up, obviously surprised that she was conscious.

‘Sorry,’ the tall woman said.

‘Right.’ Holly looked down at the gun in her hand. The phone between her knees had stopped ringing. She wondered if she was dreaming this, living a moment that never was as she sank deeper towards death.

‘Do I need to take your weapon?’ Drake asked. He was standing beyond Holly’s feet, between her and the huddled shapes of two dead furies.

‘Yeah. Probably. Fucker.’

Paloma grunted, something noncommittal and impatient.

‘I have to . . . apologise,’ Drake said. He squatted in front of her, coming down to her level. ‘Moira was meant to tie you up, that’s all. When she came back to me she was mortified that—’

‘That she thought she’d killed me?’

‘Moira is in awe of you. And a little scared of you.’ Drake shrugged. ‘We all are.’

His wife unfolded a paper sachet and spread something on the knife wound, and Holly screeched at the sudden shattering pain. Paloma held her hand and squeezed softly, and then the pain faded as quickly as it had arrived.

‘It’ll settle soon,’ Paloma said. ‘The wound isn’t too deep, and I don’t think it’s damaged anything important.’

‘Other than me,’ Holly said.

Paloma’s smile was lopsided. ‘You know what I mean.’

Holly nodded her thanks and the woman stood, backed away, gave Drake room to move in closer. A couple more of his people stood further along the corridor, their backs turned. Holly could no longer see Moira.

‘Well, I suppose I should blow your head off first,’ Holly said. ‘You’re their boss, after all. What have you done to Jonah?’

Drake blinked uncomfortably but did not reply.

‘Is he dead?’ Holly asked.

‘No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know yet. But it doesn’t matter, he’s—’

‘Doesn’t matter?’

‘He’s lost to us, Holly. And he’s a brave man.’ Then Drake told her where Jonah had gone, and why.

‘This world is his priority!’ Holly said, stunned. But even as she spoke she wondered at the truth of that. Since his wife’s death Jonah had spent his life striving to reach the multiverse, beyond this world. His priorities went farther.

‘He’s a complex man,’ Drake said, and in his voice she heard him saying, As am I. ‘By doing what he can to stop those bastards – something I’ve craved my whole life – Jonah might save everything.’

‘Or he might destroy the last place that’s protected from this plague,’ Holly said.

Drake inclined his head. ‘Perhaps. But they’re the last world worth saving.’

‘You can arbitrarily decide that?’

‘Yes, I can.’

Holly shook her head.

‘Holly,’ Drake said. ‘Jonah demanded that I come back. His parting wish – his demand – was that I should help you and your friends in your vain search for a vaccine.’

‘You think it’s in vain.’

‘You’ve seen Mannan. We’ve discovered nothing.’

‘But you’re not us.’ Holly went to stand, and Drake and Paloma tried to help her. She waved them away. Tucking the gun in her belt and grabbing the phone, she pushed herself up the wall, fighting weakness more than pain. She’d lost blood. But she still had her determination.

She looked down at herself. Bloodied trousers, bra on display, dress tied around her waist. ‘While I’m doing this, maybe you can find me some clothes,’ she said to Paloma. Then she headed into the common room, and Drake followed.

Moira was there, examining coffee machines and juice dispensers on the counter. The short woman glanced her way, but Holly did not acknowledge her presence.

In the garage there were two bodies lying beside the Hummer, and its windows were smashed. Jonah had fought to block the doorway when the plague had already spread, and it was with that realisation that Holly felt the first stab of sorrow. I’ll never see him again, she thought, and she remembered him laughing, talking about things she barely understood and drinking his precious whisky. A complex man, Drake had called him. He didn’t know the half of it.