Underlife by Robert Finn (different e readers txt) 📕

which meant that it opened like a drawbridge — though this drawbridge had steps built into it and formed a descending ramp down to the level of the tracks. Plastic-wrapped steel cables ran out from the sides of the doorframe and down to the ramp, holding it at the proper angle. Sitting on the bottom step, legs dangling over the tracks, was Warren.

Clipper’s eyes adjusted gradually to the gloom. A slight stirring of air in the tunnel brought to him the smell of dust and hot oil and… with a nauseating jolt he realised what that third smell might be and did his best not to think about it.

Once his eyes had got used to the low light, he could make out what Warren was doing. He had one arm raised and was gently flicking his right hand out in front of him and then slowly rolling his arm in a circle around his shoulder.

“Er… Are you OK?” Clipper asked, not sure what to make of it, but feeling as though he should say something to announce his presence. He’d been really hoping that Warren hadn’t survived, that he’d fallen along with Kieran, so it felt strange to be asking him how he was doing. On the other hand, he’d seen no sign that these people could read minds, so he did his best to keep the guilt to himself.

Warren’s tone was biting as he said, “Well, you see I pulled my shoulder out of its socket. It’s still a little painful.”

Presumably he’d tried to grab hold of Kieran as he jumped; Clipper could work that much out. But how had he un-dislocated his shoulder? He could vaguely remember tough guys in movies charging into walls to pop them back in. He wasn’t sure he believed that would work. Still, if you could deflect bullets and stop yourself from bleeding through force of will, the shoulder thing was probably kid’s stuff. Child’s play. A doddle.

Was that a little hysteria creeping into his thoughts? Clipper took a breath and tried to settle himself. Warren still hadn’t looked round as Clipper said, “I’m sorry but your, uh… your friend isn’t doing very well. We don’t know what else to do for him.”

Warren sighed and began to haul himself to his feet. He still had on only one boot and Clipper could just about make out the black mark in the middle of his bare foot that must have been the clotted blood around the bullet hole. There was no sign of bleeding. Warren was even able to put a little weight on it as he stood.

Once he was upright he said, “Well, try not to concern yourself.” More sarcasm? He grunted a little as he turned, his bad arm holding onto one of the ramp’s steel cables. “I think Sebastian is going to have to chalk this one up to experience.” His tone was conversational now — he was mainly talking to himself — and yet there was something troubling about his words.

Clipper edged back as Warren limped towards him. Wanting to get out of his way, Clipper turned and walked ahead, making his way back to Rachel’s side. When Warren eventually reached them, he crouched down next to Sebastian, glaring at Rachel until she moved aside to give him some room. Then he gently touched his friend’s face and called his name. Getting no response, he said it again and patted his cheek to rouse him. Still no response. A look of annoyance passed crossed Warren’s features. He lifted his hand a little and gave Sebastian a hard slap across the face. Rachel gasped.

Irate, she demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re…” but then she abruptly stopped speaking. Clipper couldn’t figure out what was happening now, but Rachel’s eyes bulged a little and there was a look of panic on her face. Her mouth was open but so far as he could tell she wasn’t breathing.

When Rachel had challenged him, Warren’s head had snapped round to stare at her and his eyes were still fixed upon her now as she squirmed and struggled to breathe. It was plain enough that Warren was doing this. Somehow.

Clipper needed to do something to help Rachel, but he had no idea what. Several options flicked through his mind, and all of them seemed likely to make matters worse — especially his first instinct, which was just to punch Warren in the face.

He realised he needed to say something to distract Warren and maybe get him to calm down a little, but all that Clipper’s throat wanted to produce was a shout of anger. And that wasn’t going to work.

He forced himself to sound calm as he said, “Hey, listen, she was only trying to help your friend, alright? That’s fair enough isn’t it?” He needed to sound reasonable, not like he was challenging Warren, but it wasn’t easy.

A moment later Rachel dragged in a great lungful of air and Warren said to her, “Keep your mouth shut.” Then he turned back to Sebastian, whose eyes had fluttered open. He was clearly having difficulty focusing on the man leaning over him. Clipper could almost see him trying to figure out whether someone had just hit him. It didn’t look like his brain was firing on all cylinders.

“Here, look at me, Sebastian,” Warren said, clicking his fingers and trying to get his attention. Then, very clearly and emphatically, he said, “You need to stop the bleeding right now. Right now, understand?” Sebastian said nothing, though he looked as though he was trying to speak. Then his eyes began to flick upwards again and the lids closed.

This time when Warren hit him, even harder than before, Rachel tensed and Clipper could see how tightly her nails pressed into the palms of her bunched fists, but she held her tongue.

Sebastian twitched and quivered from the blow, but his eyes opened once more. Warren said to him, “This is it, my friend. If you’re going to save yourself you need to do it now.”

Sebastian coughed a little, deep down in his chest, hardly making a sound and his lips moved, but all that came out was a wheeze. He tried again and managed to say, “It’s no good. I can’t maintain it…” He snatched another couple of painful sounding breaths and went on, “Hospital. Let them fix me up. I’ll get out… when I’m stronger.”

But Warren was shaking his head slowly. He sounded sad as he said, “Sebastian, that isn’t how it works. You know the rules. You’d get us a lot of attention. And they’d take away these.” He tapped Sebastian’s wrist as he said it.

Sebastian looked confused and then just a little bit worried. “No. I can… Give me a moment…” he said, struggling to speak.

Warren shook his head again. Then he reached around and pulled a black tube free from the bottom of his backpack. Clipper tried to figure out what it was, but couldn’t guess. Warren grasped it at either end and pulled his hands apart. A bright knife-edge came into view. It was a blade about eight inches long. Sebastian’s eyes went very wide and he began struggling to move, but his arms had no strength in them, they did little more than flutter at his sides.

“No,” Rachel said sharply. And when Warren shot her a warning look, she held her hands to her mouth and repeated quietly, “No,” but she didn’t try to stop him.

For Clipper it was like the moment when he’d seen Kieran hanging from the rear of the train. His mind raced — aware of what was going to happen next, but unable to think of a way to prevent it.

“Couldn’t we…” he began, not caring if Warren turned on him. But Warren had already done it. He’d rested the tip of the knife on Sebastian’s chest and pushed the blade in between his ribs. Sebastian twitched once, violently and made a sound that was halfway between a moan and a cough, and that was that. Clipper could hardly believe that was all it took to kill someone.

Warren waited a few seconds and then eased the blade out. He gave his wrist a violent twist which cast a line of blood droplets in a thin arc up onto the white of the door panel and then he shut the knife back into its sheath with a snap. He used his sleeve to wipe the handle free of his fingerprints and then tucked the sheathed knife into Sebastian’s belt.

Since the moment she’d seen the mirrored steel exposed and realised what it meant, Rachel had been staring at Warren with fixed and silent hatred. Her gaze burrowed into him and Clipper thought he would surely be forced to look round in a minute, to react. Mentally Clipper pleaded with her to stop before she attracted Warren’s attention and he was provoked into doing something awful to her. Given what he’d just seen Warren do, Clipper could picture it so easily: Rachel’s body crumpling, her life extinguished, while Clipper looked on helplessly.

But Warren was busying himself with Sebastian’s personal effects. He was removing the fastenings around Sebastian’s wrists. One was a watch; Clipper wasn’t sure what the strap on the other wrist was for. He also removed Sebastian’s wool cap and a bright band of metal beneath it. It looked out of place next to the black uniform.

Was this what gave them their power, Clipper wondered. Was this like those stories where people had magic rings or wands and stuff? Or could it be some sort of technology, some kind of miniaturised gadgetry — perhaps secret military equipment beyond anything civilians had access to? He had no idea. For all Clipper could tell the things Warren was removing might simply be their equivalent of dog tags — or taking a man’s wedding ring back for his widow.

Now Warren turned Sebastian’s body onto its side — and despite the fact that moments before he’d ended the man’s life, he was gentle about it. He opened Sebastian’s backpack and removed a few objects, some of which Clipper could identify — like a wallet and a phone — and some he could only guess at, like the black tube that resembled Warren’s knife but was much longer. Then he worked his way along Sebastian’s corpse, expertly rifling the body and removing everything that could be removed. When he was done, he slipped his own backpack off and stowed Sebastian’s things, and then shrugged it back into place.

When his task was completed he half stood, bending down to get his hands beneath Sebastian’s body, and lifted it off the floor. Moving slowly and favouring his good foot, he carried the body past Clipper and Rachel, and took it into the rear cab, placing it on the floor behind the driver’s chair. As Warren stepped back from the body, Clipper could see him pulling his sleeve down over his hand, before he bent down again. When he straightened he was holding the knife in the fabric of his tunic. He flicked his arm and the knife spun away into the dark of the tunnel. He must have loosened the scabbard too, for Clipper saw a flash as the blade caught the light. He could hear it clatter and ring as it bounced across the tracks. He wondered whether Kieran wasn’t going to get the blame for the hole in Sebastian’s chest as well as the one in his neck.

Now what? Clipper thought, ominously aware that there was nothing left to occupy Warren’s attention apart from him and Rachel — and so far the recipients of Warren’s attention hadn’t lasted very long. But there wasn’t any reason for him to hurt them, was there?

The problem was that Clipper just didn’t know how to read