After that, we rounded up the people we could find — all the drug addicts and victims of abuse that had come to the farm with the promise of a better life — and led them to the living room in Lazarus.
There were twenty-two of them in all. Every one the same: healthy, but virtual amnesiacs, a few of them at the beginning of the programme and still strung out on whatever drugs they were being forced to take. They watched us as we sat them down, one by one, their expressions fixed, a few of them looking like their will had gone; as if they were dying from the inside out. As Alex and I made hot drinks and passed seats and blankets through, I started to wonder how they would ever be able to start to live again.
Myzwik was still lying on the floor of the Red Room. There was blood matted to his hair. It had congealed beneath him, where the back of his head had hit an uneven patch of concrete. When I rolled him over, I could see a hole about the size of a peach at the base of his skull. A piece of concrete, not set straight like the rest of the floor, had pierced the back of his head when he’d landed. As I moved out of the Red Room, out into the bitter cold, I realized I was now a killer four times over.
And not a single one I regretted.
The other instructors — Evelyn included — were gone. The property was deserted, and if we drove to the next village — where the tendrils of the organization spread — they wouldn’t be there either. None of them would be back. They were running now; perhaps understanding some of the desperation those on the farm felt as their lives crashed around them.
Finally, as the sun started coming up on a new day, we drove the Shogun along the coast to a cove. Majestic cliffs rose out of the sea for three hundred feet. Waves crashed on the shore below, their sound swallowed up by the wind. We’d found a couple of concrete blocks in Lazarus’ yard. At the edge of the cliff, we tied the blocks to Legion and Andrew — and then pushed both bodies off the side. They turned in the air as they dropped, and quickly disappeared in the spray. When we saw them again, they were fading into the depths of the sea, sinking further and further under. Legion sunk last, as if clinging on to his existence even after life had left his body.
Eventually, darkness consumed them both.
Back at the house, we told the group everything would be all right. They eyed us with suspicion. They’d been tied to rings in rooms that smelt of death, terrified by a killer who watched them from the dark, and nailed to a crucifix. Their memories might have gone, but they weren’t stupid. They knew this new existence wasn’t the one Michael, Zack, Jade and all the others had promised them.
Finally, when we were done, we left the farm through the main gates and headed to my car. Alex drove while I sat forward in my seat, careful not to put any pressure on my back.
Ten minutes down the road, we stopped at a payphone and put in an anonymous call to the police.
46
We stopped at a service station outside Manchester. The temperature readout inside the building said it was minus three. We sat at a table by one of the windows, looking out at a children’s play park, both of us nursing coffees. The fingers of my left hand were still wrapped in cling film. As the adrenalin wore off, I was starting to feel more: the dull ache of bones locking up, nerves over-compensating, the burn of torn flesh in and around the wounds.
In the glass, I could see people staring at us. One of us bruised almost beyond recognition, the other looking like he’d spent every day of the last six years living on the streets. I could see my injuries too — my face, my fingers — and wondered how I would explain it all when I went to a hospital. If I went to a hospital. After that, we headed out to the car, cranked up the heaters and disappeared back on to the motorway.
Snow started falling about twenty minutes later, coming out of the pale afternoon sky. I turned to Alex. He was driving, a fresh coffee steaming in the car’s cup holder.
‘How did you know about me?’ I asked him.
He glanced at me, then back out to the road in front of us.
‘I broke into Mum and Dad’s home and found your name and address,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’d become. A fugitive. I wanted Mum to see me that day. I let her follow me so she would believe enough, and then I prayed she would go to someone. I used to watch her when she came into London. Follow her from the train to her work, hope that one day she might stop somewhere and ask for help. And eventually she did. She came to see you. I didn’t know anything about you, couldn’t find you in the Yellow Pages, couldn’t find your number in the telephone book. That was why I went back to Mum and Dad’s place. To find out who you were.’
‘How did you get out of the farm in the first place?’
His hands shifted on the wheel.
‘One night — it was about nine months after Mat persuaded me to go to that place — I heard a voice I recognized passing in the corridor outside my room. When I went to the door, I looked out — and it was Simon.’
‘Your friend Simon?’
He nodded. ‘I couldn’t believe it was him.’
‘But it was.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was. They treated him… I’d never seen them treat anyone like that. They’d put him on a leash and were pulling him around like an animal. So, I followed them, expecting to be stopped, but I got to the end of the corridor and no one came after me. I passed beneath their CCTV cameras and no one tried to stop me. It was like the whole place had been abandoned. Normally you couldn’t breathe without someone hearing you, but I managed to walk out of the complex, and up on to the surface.’
‘Did you find Simon?’
‘No. I was too far behind him…’ He trailed off, glanced at me. ‘And I guess I forgot about him as soon as I got to the surface.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the entrance had been left open.’
‘The main gate?’
He nodded. ‘It was open enough to allow me to escape. My body was telling me to make a break for it, but my brain was holding me back. They never left it open — ever.’
‘Was it some kind of trap?’
‘That was my first thought. But, after a couple of minutes of standing there, I started walking towards the gate.’
‘And that was it — you just went through?’
‘No. When I got to the top… Andrew was there.’
‘Just waiting for you?’
‘Just there. In the shadows. I was about four feet from the gate, close enough to run for it if he tried to come for me — but he didn’t. He just stood there.’
I looked at him. ‘And did what?’
‘And did nothing. He just stayed like that. And then, when I finally made a move towards the other side, he said, “Bringing you here was a mistake. We never wanted you, Alex. None of us. I’m sick of fighting you; of not being able to give you the drugs I need to. If you really were a part of this programme, we would have sacrificed you already. But you’re not — never will be — and I’m willing to take whatever consequences come my way now. I don’t want to see your face any more.”’
‘That’s what he said?’
Alex nodded. ‘It still felt like a trap, but when I stepped through the gate, on to the road, I realized it wasn’t. I looked back and watched him push the gate shut behind me. Then he said, “If things get bad, if you try to do anything to us, bring anyone here, we will get to you. And when we get to you, we won’t care what kind of protection you have — we will kill you.” And then he headed back to the farm.’
‘What did he mean by “protection”?’