It would feel really good to hit something. To take out the day’s frustrations on whatever poor fool was stupid enough to interrupt our downtime.
The first man to step through the doorway was dressed all in red. Blood-red leather jacket and trousers, with a dark red mask covering his entire face, with just the eyes showing. There was something about the eyes . . . Too fixed, too fierce, too intent. He stood in front of the doorway with fresh blood dripping from his bare hands, his long lean body almost quivering with nervous energy. You had only to look at him to know that he was here to fight, and kill . . . and that he would enjoy every bloody moment of it. He wasn’t a soldier, or even a mercenary; he was a killer.
He stepped quickly forward, and half a dozen more men came quickly through the doorway after him. Six more lean and hungry men, dressed in blood-red.
“Why are they all wearing masks?” Molly said quietly. “Are they afraid we might recognise them?”
“There’s something odd about the way they all look,” I said. “The way they move. They all have exactly the same body language. Weird.”
And then we glanced behind us, as the rear door to the carriage slammed open. Two armed security guards, in much the same black uniform as the conductor, came running in. They shouted at Molly and me in Russian, telling us to get the hell out of their way. They were both big muscular types, carrying heavy machine pistols. They looked like they knew how to use them.
Molly and I moved hastily back out of the way, and they ran straight past us, training their guns on the men in red and yelling for them to surrender. One of the blood-red men stepped forward, raising his bloody hands, and both security men opened up on him at once. The bullets raked him from chest to groin and back again, but he just stood there and took it. I saw the bullets go in, but he didn’t bleed at all. Didn’t even stagger back, from the repeated impacts.
He came forward, incredibly fast, and hit the nearest security man in the head so hard it broke the man’s neck and sent his head swinging all the way round to stare over his shoulder with empty eyes. The body was still crumpling to the floor when the blood-red man turned on the other guard, who was still emptying his gun into the quickly moving target. The blood-red man snatched the machine pistol out of the security guard’s hand, reversed it, and smashed the stock of the gun into the man’s chest so hard, it sank half its length into his body. Blood flew out in a jet, soaking the blood-red man’s jacket. The security man let out a single agonised grunt. The blood-red man pulled the gun back out, in a fresh flurry of blood, and the security man fell to the floor. The blood-red man tossed the gun carelessly aside, and looked at me again. With those mad, fierce eyes.
And I just knew I’d seen them somewhere before.
The other passengers scrambled up out of their seats, screaming and shouting, and ran for the rear door. Molly and I stayed back to let them pass, not taking our eyes off the blood-red men. The passengers slammed into one another in the narrow aisle, fighting hysterically as they tried to make their escape. Molly and I stood together in the aisle, blocking the blood-red men’s way. I could hear diners struggling to force their way through the far door. Finally the last shouts and cries died away as they disappeared into the next carriage. Molly and I were left alone with the blood-red men.
I looked them over carefully, and the more I studied them, the more identical they seemed. Same height, same weight, same body language. The way they held themselves. And they all had the same intent, fanatic’s eyes . . .
“Who are these guys?” Molly said quietly.
“Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “But they’re not just uniformed thugs, like MI 13’s shock troops. They’re stronger than anything human should be, and faster, and from the way that one just soaked up bullets . . . Augmented men? Specially created soldiers? Clones?”
“Ask them,” said Molly.
“Worth a try, I suppose,” I said. I took one careful step forward, and all their eyes moved to follow me. “Who are you?” I said loudly. “What do you want with us?”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Molly.
“I have to ask,” I said, not looking back. “You know how the bad guys always love to boast. And it is always possible there’s been some terrible misunderstanding.”
“You think?” said Molly.
“Not really, no. But you have to cover every possibility . . . Look, do you want to come forward and take over the questioning? I don’t mind. Really.”
“No, no, you carry on,” said Molly. “Though I would just point out that not one of these arseholes has answered you yet. Which is just rude. I say we forgo further questioning and move straight on to the arse-kicking. Just on general principles. We can always ask questions afterwards, to whoever’s still conscious.”
The blood-red men surged forward, moving incredibly quickly. More of them came bursting through the open doorway, until a small crowd of blood-red men filled the end of the carriage. An army of fanatical killers, all dressed the same, all looking and moving exactly alike. They stood unnaturally still, their gaze fixed on me, ignoring Molly. Poised and ready, as though just waiting for the order to attack.
“Okay, Molly,” I said steadily. “I count twenty-three of them now. And I have this horrible feeling there are probably even more of them on the other side of that doorway. They’re all looking at me, but I’m pretty sure they’d be just as happy to take you down too, so I have to ask, Molly, are you back to full strength?”
“Are you?” said Molly. “You were the one complaining you were too full to do anything physical.”
“I have my armour,” I said patiently. “Do you have all your magics back?”
“Not all of them, no, but . . . enough. Come on, Eddie, there are twenty-three of them against two of us, so for all practical purposes we outnumber them. Let’s do it.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said.
I armoured up, and golden strange matter flowed all over me in a moment. I felt stronger, faster, my mind suddenly running at full speed. Putting on Drood armour is like suddenly emerging from a doze to full wakefulness, or like coming out of a dream to sharp reality. Like a blast of adrenaline to the soul. I always feel more alive, more aware, more me, when I’m in my armour. Ready to take on the whole damned world.
Interestingly, not one of the blood-red men reacted at all. They didn’t even flinch. Which was unusual. Most people jump half out of their skin the first time they see a Drood armour up. It’s basically just self-preservation instincts kicking in, because if a Drood’s turned up, everyone else is in real trouble. The blood-red men just stood their ground and stared at me with their overbright eyes, as though this was what they’d been waiting for.
Molly got fed up with being ignored, stepped forward, and thrust out a hand at the blood-red crowd. She spoke a couple of really nasty Words, and I winced inwardly as I recognised her favourite transformation spell. I have seen Molly turn whole armies of very rude unfortunates into so many confused-looking toads with that spell. Which made it all the more interesting, and upsetting, when nothing happened. The blood-red men just stood where they were, entirely unaffected. Molly slowly lowered her hand.
“They must be protected,” I said.
“No!” said Molly. “You think?”
“Don’t get ratty with me,” I said. “It’s not my fault your spell didn’t work.”
“Might be,” said Molly. “You don’t know.”
“Look, let’s go straight to the ultraviolence,” I said. “That’ll cheer you up. I’m going in. You watch my back.”
“You got it,” said Molly.
I surged forward with all the strength and speed my armour could provide, and the blood-red men came to meet me. There was a terrible vicious energy in their movements. I punched the first one in the head so hard I heard his neck break, but his masked face just seemed to soak up the punch, and he didn’t fall. In fact, I heard his neck bones crack and creak as they repaired themselves. So I kicked his feet out from under him, let him fall to the floor, and just walked right over him to get to the next target.