 
The Doomsday Dilemma

David Dwan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 David Dwan

Cover by Love Your Covers

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this book are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Head Like A Hole

Make Cars Go Boom Now

Paul Anderson Legend In His Own Lunch Time

Questions Questions

Bath Salts And Memories

Don't Call Me Dennis

Something Wonderful And Terrible

Show And Tell

Revolution By Committee

Harper Goes Walkabout

Crazy Earl

Time To Sleep Peter Harper

Collateral Damage

Blame

Bridges Burnt

Handle With Care

Batter Up

Hiding In Shadows

The Calm Before

Tables Turned

Terrorist Moi

All Hell

Front Row For The Apocalypse

Retributions Plaything

Harper The Immortal

HEAD LIKE A HOLE

Upon finally regaining consciousness, the first thing Peter Harper became aware of was that someone seemed to be drilling a hole into the top of his head. Searing pain shot through his brain like a bullet repeatedly ricocheting off the inside of his skull, followed by a slow creeping tinnitus, which started in low, but was soon up to a mile passed deafening.

Harper opened his eyes as best he could but just couldn't get his eyes to focus on anything around him, he could have been in a coffin or a concert hall for all he knew. He moved a little but was greeted with a tsunami of nausea for his efforts which threatened to knock him right out again. He mumbled something but the whole right side of his face was numb. Just like when he'd had his wisdom teeth out.

"Fuck..." Harper spat, and again was hit with nausea. He tried in vain to gather his thoughts. What the hell had happened? It seemed impossible, but the pain was worsening by the second. A shape moved in front of him, his sight was so poor it could have been anything. Harper tried to speak again but his pain-addled brain couldn't formulate the words into any coherent order, his mouth now felt like it was crammed full of marbles, threatening to choke him if he breathed too deeply.

Mercifully, the shape seemed to know what he was trying to say. "Ssh," it whispered above the screaming in his head. "I've got something for the pain." _Thank Christ._ Harper motioned with his hand that it was his head. "No, don't." The blur warned harshly. "Careful, wait, wait, wait don't touch it whatever you do. Try not to move so much. Hold on a sec'. Here we go, take this, open wide."

The shape put what felt like a pill on Harper's swollen tongue and he gratefully swallowed it. He closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. "That's good," said the shape sounding like it was speaking under water. "Just try and relax, it won't take long, it's very powerful. That's it. If you need to, there's a table just in front of you, lean forwards a little. There you go."

Harper blindly reached out and was surprised that the table was only a couple of feet or so away, he gripped on to the wood and miraculously, within only a few seconds the wonder drug started to kick in. The pain slowly lost its edge, then melted away altogether, as did the ringing in his ears and he could finally hear his own ragged breathing.

"Oh, God. Thank you." Harper said gratefully.

"Just take your time, breathe. How's that now?" The blur asked.

"Oh, Jesus, better, so much better, thank you, thank you," he replied. He looked up, adjusting his eyes to the light as part of his vision began to return somewhat. He found he could see better through his left eye, although it refused to offer anything other than soft focus, but his right was like looking through petrol in a glass full of water, all multi-coloured swirls and shifting focus. He had been concussed once before, when he was a kid, and it had felt and looked a little like this.

A young Peter Harper had fallen off his bike and cracked his head on the pavement aged twelve, and that had earned him a night in hospital and he still had a vivid memory how it had messed with his sight, just like now. "I've been in an accident." He said plainly.

The shape sat down at the table opposite and once he was still, his features finally came in to some semblance of focus. He was a man, who looked to be in his mid-sixties he was casually dressed in an open necked white shirt and had a neatly trimmed grey beard, through which he was smiling benevolently. Harper knew the man from somewhere but couldn't quite place him. He didn't answer, but began studying Harper intently.

"I've taken a whack to the head." Harper slurred, at which the man cracked a grin.

"Huh? Oh, a whack? A whack and then some, I'd say." He replied cheerfully. "It's amazing you're conscious at all, let along talking. How's the pain now?"

"All but gone, thank you." Harper looked around; he was in a rustic looking room, complete with oak beams and an open fireplace. "Where am I? This isn't a hospital."

"Don't you remember anything about what happened to you?" The man asked. Harper tried to think, but the combination of the drug and his head injury clouded his thoughts, making it increasingly hard for him to concentrate on anything but how good he felt all of a sudden, and he silently thanked the wonders of modern medicine. Still, he tried; He remembered getting to work at the lab as normal, where he worked as a security guard, so a road accident on the way was out of the question. But after that, nothing.

It was now that Harper noticed he was still in his security guard uniform, which was covered in dried blood. "Why am I still in my uniform?" He asked. "This isn't a hospital. Am I still at the lab?" The man stroked his beard; if anything he had a look of wonderment about him. He shook his head slightly; more it seemed at Harper's condition than in answer to his question. "I'm covered in blood!" Dull panic tried to well up inside him, but was drowned out by the powerful sedative.

Finally the old man said. "It's amazing, there's no other word for it."

"Look at me, I'm covered in blood. Where the hell am I?" Harper demanded his pulse suddenly began to quicken now despite the sedatives seductive warmth. There was something terribly wrong here. He tried to push himself up from the table but his legs refused to support him. This was all wrong, he thought. "I need, I need a doctor." But the old man wasn't interested, he just continued perusing Harper. "I said..."

"Don't get agitated, you'll start the bleeding again!" The old man snapped and Harper instinctively touched the right side of his head, which was numb, his fingers came away sticky.

"Tut, there look, it's started again." The old man scolded as if he were speaking to a child picking at a scab. "No don't touch it!" He moved forwards across the table and adjusted something that was wrapped tightly around Harper's head, a bandage?

"I can't feel the right side of my head." Harper said dully and slapped the others hand away.

The old man almost laughed at this. "Christ! I'm not surprised," he said and sat back down.

"Who are you? What is this place, shouldn't I be in a hospital?" Harper was pleading now; the old man didn't seem quite so benevolent anymore.

The old man lent forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Take a look at my face. Don't you recognise me?"

"Jesus," Harper was sick of this game but knew there was nothing he could do for now. "I know you, from somewhere. Just can't think straight." He tried to fix him with a steady gaze, but his vision wouldn't co-operate, the right hand side of his face was normal enough, but the left was like a seething mass of melting wax.

"Fair enough, sorry." The old man said brightly. "I'm doctor Logan; I work in research at the lab?" Bingo that was where Harper had seen him before. Logan was one of the boffins at the Ventrex research lab where Harper worked. "Ring any bells?" Logan asked. Harper nodded, he had seen Logan dozens of times wandering the corridors at Ventrex over the years. "And by your uniform I can assume you're one of our security guards. Your nametag says Peter Harper. Pleased to meet you, Peter Harper."

The drug Logan had given him had stopped Harper's growing agitation getting anywhere close to panic, but his mind was in a spin. He was clearly badly hurt, but wasn't in a hospital, or still at work. If anything the room looked like it was in a country cottage of some kind. And the man in front of him was showing no sign of concern for his injuries, let alone helping him. And was evading any questions Harper had about what exactly had happened to him.

Harper took a breath and fixed Logan with as steady a gaze as he could muster. "Listen, doctor. Please, tell me what the hell is going on here. What's happened to me? Why am I covered in blood? And why the fuck aren't I in a fucking hospital!?" The tirade made Harper's head spin again.

"All in good time," Logan said in that same maddeningly calm detached way. "Just try to remain calm."

"Calm?" Harper spluttered in disbelief. "I'm covered in fucking blood! I can hardly see, and you're acting like this is an everyday thing for you, you fucking lunatic!" Harper had to gasp for breath in between words, he could sense his head was throbbing but was thankful he couldn't feel it anymore. Judging by the blood and his numb face he could only imagine how badly he was hurt.

"I'm just saying, you'll do yourself a mischief thrashing about like that. In your condition." Logan said evenly.

"And what is my fucking condition?" Harper screamed in his face. "Why can't I feel the right side of my head?"

"Because it isn't there anymore." Logan replied. The response was issued so matter of fact, Harper was at a loss. All he could do was just gawp at the man.

It took Harper a good ten seconds to speak again, and when it came all he could muster was;"Wha'- What are you talking about?" He touched the wound on the side of his head which was spongy and slimy to the touch, he felt his fingers go deep into the numb flesh, deeper than was natural. He recoiled and immediately withdrew his hand, suddenly repulsed. "Ugh! That's disgusting. What the hell?"

Logan was still totally stoic. "I said leave it alone."

Harper felt nauseous, his head was swimming with a combination of the drug and the sheer lunacy of it all. "What, was, that?" He stammered.

"You have about two and a half, three inches of skull missing on the right hand side of your head." Logan continued in his even tone. "You just touched your exposed brain tissue through a gap in the bandage."

"Wha..." Harper could feel himself drifting off into unconsciousness again. Black blotches began to obscure his already fucked up vision. He was going to throw up or pass out. All he could manage was a faint. "Please..." Then he nearly toppled off his chair, but Logan was suddenly there at his side supporting him. "Please. Why aren't I in a hospital?" Harper asked. His voice sounded like it was at the bottom of a chasm, miles from his body. His vision was fading fast now until Logan was nothing more than a grey shape against the darkening black of the room.

"Hospital? No, I patched you up a bit. But to be honest I've been thinking that I'll just sit back and let nature take its course. See what happens."

The grey smudge that was speaking had almost completely merged with the darkness closing in on Harper. "You know," it continued. "It's nothing short of remarkable that you are not dead, Peter."

Harper thought he was dying, fading away from this nightmare. "What happened to me?" Harper's head lolled forwards as his remaining strength gave out. Nearly gone now, slipping into a darkness that was warm somehow and not cold as he would have imagined death to be. Not so bad. "Who, are you?" He asked as the darkness smothered him. Not so bad at all really; Dying.

"I told you, I'm Doctor Logan, I work at the lab, remember? Oh, and I'm the one who shot you in the head."

That should have shocked Harper into some sort of reaction, no matter how muted, but it barely registered more than a slight quickening of his fitful heart. He sensed more than felt Logan close by him in the murk, whispering into his one good ear.

"Shh, try not to die, Harper. Not yet. Don't you see this is just the beginning? There's so much I want to tell you, and it would be such a shame to lose you so soon. Harper?" The voice was as seductive as a king cobra's hiss to its hypnotized prey. "Harper? Oh, well, I suppose it can wait until you come around again. If you do that is..."

And with that Harper was gone.

MAKE CARS GO BOOM NOW

"EARTH FIRST, MOTHER FUCKERS!!!" Or at least that's what Jeff McManus thought the darkly dressed figure had shouted, as he was jumping up and down on the grass banking over at the other side of the March Dale Golf club car park. But the truth was it was hard for McManus to tell, as to be fair he couldn't hear much at all at the time.

The figure had then disappeared down the other side of the banking, only to emerge moments later on a black motor bike that tore across the eighteenth green (doing a couple of impromptu donuts that no doubt ripped up the delicate grass near the flag) and then finally disappearing off into the night. Its red tail light fading like the tip of McManus' dis-guarded cigarette.

It wasn't the fact that the figure had been wearing a ski mask that muffled the words he was shouting. It was more to do with the ringing in McManus' ears caused by the white Bugatti that had exploded mere feet from where he was standing at the time, the white Bugatti that was now laid burning on its roof close to where McManus was cowering.

And to think the evening had started out so sedately.

***

Jeff McManus had been working as a greens keeper at March Dale Golf club for the best part of three years now. And one of the perks of the job that came along from time to time was earning extra cash lending a hand when there was a corporate dinner event at the club house. When the bigwigs could come and have a leisurely round of golf before heading over to the club house for an evening of over-priced dinner and drinks. Sure you had to dress smart in a shirt and tie and actually had to wear one of those puke coloured club blazers. But this was more than compensated for by the fact that the drunker the guests got, the bigger the tips got.

Tonight, March Dale Golf club was playing host to The Allied Chemicals board of directors, who, so the story went, were out celebrating a high court victory. One of their factories in Thailand or some such far flung place like it, had allegedly been caught dumping highly toxic chemicals into the sea which had resulted in the death of the local fish population, and with it the fishing towns only source of income (save selling their land to Allied Chemicals, so that it could expand up the coast, thus tripling the earning potential of the area.) It had apparently been all over the news, with Allied Chemicals facing a clean-up bill in the hundreds of millions and certain bankruptcy.

But then, just as things were looking the bleakest, the companies grossly over-paid lawyers began to earn their obscene pay checks. The Prosecution's case, which up until then had been water tight began to spring a leak. The scientific reports on which so much of the case was based were discredited (along with their authors) almost overnight. Key witnesses now refused to testify and so, like a blind kid playing Jenga in boxing gloves, the whole damn case came tumbling down. Heads rolled, politicians back tracked and in the end, the punishment, which should have been a death sentence for the corporation, was watered down into little more than a financial slap on the wrist.

The Allied Chemicals top brass had tearfully conceded some of the blame for the spill, but only that it had been a terrible, tragic accident and they had shown remorse to the tune of tens of millions of pounds to help put the damage right as best they could. And as a result their share price, which had been in the toilet weeks before, was now through the roof and beyond.

This new found profit, Allied agreed would partly go into the construction of a new improved plant, close to the site of the old one and so there would be more than enough new local jobs to go around. They even agreed to pick up the tab for a new school in the area, complete with an Olympic sized swimming pool and two (count them) two basketball/hockey courts.

And so what should have been a bill calculated in the hundreds of millions ended up barley into tens of millions. But what was an eye watering amount to mere mortals like McManus, was a cause for celebration to the board of directors inside. And judging by the cars in the Clubs car park, it was a financial hit they could easily afford. Indeed, earlier in the evening McManus and Sally, one of the clubs barmaids, had peered through the kitchen window as they arrived one by one and played an impromptu game of adding up the cost of each car as it arrived. But they had grown bored and not a little jealous when the figure had easily passed three quarters of a million. And that was before the chairman of the board had rolled up in his custom made Rolls Royce.

"Lucky bastards," McManus muttered under his breath as he looked out over the brightly lit car park. He rummaged in his blazer pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. The party inside was in full swing now, and once the speeches and endless smug back slapping had started, McManus had taken the opportunity to slip outside for a much needed nicotine hit.

He knew it wouldn't be long before the Allied chemicals elite would call it a day and move on to the next location to continue into the wee small hours, leaving in their wake the clean-up campaign which would begin in earnest and not finish until probably the wrong side of midnight.

But still, he could console himself with the extra cash that was already burning a hole in his pocket. The club had paid him double time for turning out tonight, plus he got to keep all the tips (fifty quid, in fives and tens which was a major result considering he was mostly just clearing tables) Sally and the other girls had fared even better, she had flashed him a smile as he passed her on his way out and the wad of cash she had collected so far, must have been well over a hundred, just for keeping the drinks coming and ignoring the odd lecherous remark and arse slapping. Easy money.

Outside, the powerful spot lights that illuminated the car park like it was midday, glinted off the pristine paint work of the cars, pushing back the night which was pitch black where the golf course stretch out beyond. A crash from the club house behind McManus made him jump and offer up a curse into the cool night air. He turned around to look in through the large window to see that one of the Allied Chemical suits had dropped a bottle of what looked like Champagne, much to the delight of his colleagues.

"Tossers," McManus breathed contemptuously and put a cigarette into his mouth and lit it. He took a long pull until his lungs ached then let the smoke drift lazily out through his nose. Better, he thought as he let out a soft sigh of contentment, the nicotine gave him a much needed buzz and he had just begun to formulate an idea how he could nip back inside and steal himself a couple of shots of the house's most expensive Bourbon.

That was when all hell broke loose in the car park behind him.

A massive explosion went off and he felt a flash of intense heat hit his back followed by the concussion of the blast which shook the whole front of the club house, the windows rattled violently and one pane close to where McManus had been looking in cracked from high right, down to his low left.

McManus spat out his cigarette and spun around just as a flaming BMW looped up and landed on its roof with an ear shattering crash of smashed glass and twisting metal. All he could do was stare at the scene unfolding in front of him in slack-jawed awe as another car, a flash Jaguar XJS, exploded off to his left and was reduced to a nonsense of twisted body work in a heartbeat.

"What the fu-?" Was all he got out as one by one all the Allied Chemicals cars took it in turns to explode like some bizarre synchronized stunt show. McManus staggered forwards in a daze, mesmerized by the destruction. In little more than fifteen seconds seven obscenely expensive cars had gone up in flames right before his eyes.

That was when the three hundred and fifty grand Bugatti, he was just twenty feet or so from, joined them in a spectacular fire ball. The exploding super car flipped a perfect one eighty and landed smack on its roof. The blast knocked McManus sprawling into a nearby flower bed, one he personally had weeded that afternoon, his ears ringing like he had just had his head smashed between two cymbals, Tom and Jerry style.

With the world doing fiery back flips all around him, McManus somehow managed to struggle to his knees, his spinning head was filled with the piercing Beeeeep of a hospital ECG machine on flat line. The car park in front of him now resembled down town Gaza on a particular bad night, burning vehicles or what was left of them were shattered everywhere, bleeding flames and black toxic smoke up into the once peaceful night air.

If he could have gotten his thoughts together enough to utter anything even close to a coherent word, that word would have undoubtedly have been an expletive, but as it was all he would do was stare open mouthed at the destruction. And then, slap bang in the middle of the vehicular carnage, McManus' disbelieving gaze fell upon the Chairman of the Boards brand spanking new Rolls Royce, which was sitting untouched and majestic looking amongst the debris. And he wondered vaguely if the author of this mayhem was, in fact, a Roll Royce lover.

Through a fog of confusion, McManus began to slowly become aware of raised but muffled voices of alarm coming from the club house behind him and, still on his arse, he turned to see the expensive suited executives from Allied all with their faces, pressed close to the glass window, their mouths all opening and closing as they stared at the scene in disbelief. They looked for all the world like exhibits in some strange side show and out of nowhere a burst of near hysterical laughter escaped his lips.

"It wasn't me," he shouted to the strange collection and held his empty arms out as proof and slowly got to his feet. But they didn't seem to notice he was there, much less care about his show of innocence, they were too busy lamenting the automotive slaughter out in the car park.

That was when the Rolls Royce exploded in a show of solidarity for its burning comrades. McManus had his back to the explosion but felt the blast rip through the cool night air and slam into him like he'd been hit by a Molotov cocktail right between the shoulder blades. He staggered forward a step or two, smelling burnt hair and watched the reflection of the fireball in the rattling plate glass window as it bloomed up into the sky, and at its centre, the Rolls Royce doing a fiery back flip and then landed on its roof next to the guttering Bugatti. 'That's half a million quid of scrap metal right there!' he though in awe. It was one of the most beautiful, surreal things he had ever seen in his life, augmented by the sight of the Allied Chemicals bigwigs all leaping for cover like an Olympic dry land synchronized diving team.

They all got a score of ten from McManus, who turned to rest his singed back against the glass to take in the scene first hand and seeing it he almost clapped. Whoever had gone this had thankfully left all the employees cars that were tucked away from the posh cars untouched, which included his battered VW Polo, which in his book was dammed decent of the bomber, whoever it was. They'd been after Allied Chemical only and nailed them perfectly. Then a ludicrous thought hit him and with it came more manic laughter. His four grand second hand car was now probably the most expensive car in the car park.

That was when the ski masked scrap metal creator appeared on top of the grass banking across the other side of the burning car park.

"Earth first, Mother Fuckers!!" Yes, now that he thought about it that was exactly what the figure had shouted before disappearing off on his motor bike.

Before he realised it, the built up shock finally caught up with McManus and his body decided all of a sudden that, that was quite enough excitement for one night and it would shut down for a while. One moment he was standing, the next he was on his arse shaking like a leaf, his teeth chattering even though the heat from the burning cars was hot on his face. He could have also been rocking back and forth for all his overloaded brain knew.

One final coherent thought hit him as he sat there and the assailant had finished with his donut spinning destruction of the eighteenth green and was off into the night; destroying the Bugatti and the other cars, that was fine in McManus' book. The Allied Chemical brood were all evil planet killing assholes. He got that concept and was more than okay with it, and would have applauded the biker if he could have gotten his trembling hands to work.

But did he really need to chew up McManus' beloved eighteenth green? He had spent hours preparing the beautifully crafted billiard table smooth grass earlier. Destroying that? Well, that was just mean.

PAUL ANDERSON, LEGEND IN HIS OWN LUNCH TIME

There was something about the cryptic voicemail message Freddie had left that Libby Wright didn't like. The more she thought about it the more she realised there was an edge to his voice she'd never heard before. Like most messages from Freddie this one made little or no sense, so nothing strange there. He hated using telephones as he had always been convinced it was being tapped. The fact Freddie had never really done anything to warrant such attention did little to ease his paranoia. He hadn't done anything, until now perhaps.

She had tried to call him back but his phone was switched off which did little to ease her concern. He had been gone for hours now with no word but that short message he had left on her mobile, and all that had said was; "Something wonderful and terrible has happened. Tell Paul, I need that slot in the rally. Tell him he won't regret it."

Libby was with Paul now; they were at the venue for the rally, which was tomorrow night. Paul was busy putting the finishing touches to things. Flitting from one location to the next marshalling workmen and volunteers alike making sure everything would run smoothly. And as with most things Paul Anderson was involved in, it was running like clockwork.

Watching him now from her vantage point on the stage she knew Paul was a doer, but Freddie? He was a dreamer and now more than ever, she half hoped he was still just that. _Something wonderful and terrible has happened._

Paul sauntered back over to where Libby was standing, with Millie, his latest Girlfriend/lackey/hero worshiper in tow. She had been following him around with a clip board all morning taking notes, taking abuse, all accepted with the same doe eyed devotion. Libby felt a shiver down her spine. A couple of years ago that had been her, she cringed at the thought now and pitied the poor girl and hoped that she too would soon see Paul for what he was, a self-promoting egotist. But still she had to admit he had said he was going to put on a big event and as she took in the massive university campus concert hall, he had.

"Not bad, huh?" Paul said and threw an expansive gesture around the hall. "I'm particularly proud of the banner art work."

"It's looking good." Libby said. Over her head the workmen had just hoisted up a massive banner; _'More transparency less Government lies!'_ The style was faux graffiti that gave the whole event an urban (albeit false if you asked Libby) feel. This was Paul's way of 'connecting' with the people.

He half smiled and after a moment gave her a trademark look of condescension. There was more to come, with Paul there always was. He gestured to the phone in her hand. "So? Where is he?" Paul had had a face like thunder ever since she had given him Freddie's message. Paul didn't like Freddie, never had. This was due in no small part to the fact that Libby had briefly dated Paul before she hooked up with Freddie and even though it was well over two years ago, he was still jealous.

"He's turned his phone off," Libby replied and cursed how lame that sounded. "I guess he's still with the old man." She added.

"Christ Libby, you're killing me here!" Paul snapped and pivoted on his heel rather camply and strode off across the large concert hall and over towards a pair of double doors at the other side. "You have to see things from my point of view," he continued without slowing down or turning to face her. Millie scuttled after him, and so, with much reluctance did Libby.

"Paul, just hold on a sec," She jumped down off the stage and had to jog a little until he was level with him, while Millie kept her customary two paces behind.

"I've got nearly a thousand people turning up here tomorrow night," Paul went on, only giving her a cursory glance as he spoke. "Not to mention the press. Local TV, and I'm still waiting for that tosser from Sky to get back to me."

"I know, but Paul, you promised Freddie a slot."

"If he has something to say." Paul said and finally stopped as they reached the doors. "And with Freddie? I'm not so sure he has."

"Look," Libby forced herself to remain calm, she knew she just had to massage Paul's ever increasing ego a little. It was a game they had played out so many times before, she was sick of it, but they both knew who was holding all the cards. "He'll be in touch, soon."

He looked at her and sighed and his face even softened a bit when she smiled at him. Libby had shamelessly used Paul's soft spot for her to get Freddie a place on tomorrow night's bill. The rally was a fundraiser for Paul's pet project, he was going to run in the next local election as an independent, his only platform was a call for more a public transparency in the government's defence and possible illegal weapons research programmes. He had booked a couple of bands and there would be several speakers to address the masses. It was a glorified rock concert with political leanings, but he had agreed to give Freddie a slot.

"I can't just keep a slot open for him on the off chance he has actually got something to say. I could fill this bill twice over," he reminded her. "And to be frank, Freddie's rhetoric isn't going to cut it this time. We've all moved on from those days of camping outside Ventrex labs and throwing eggs at the bastards who work there." He paused then added. "Well I've moved on since then. Have you? And more importantly has Freddie?"

She hated having to defend Freddie like this to Paul of all people, but probably hated the nagging feeling in her stomach more. That it was just possible Freddie could well be full of shit, but she had to swallow her pride and just hope Freddie would come through with something big. "Freddie's with the old man now," she told him. "He called Freddie this morning, said he needed to see him straight away. Freddie's convinced it's something big."

"So you say, but what?" Paul set off again, pushing his way through the double doors which led into a long university corridor. Libby cursed under her breath and followed him. Millie was just about to join them when Paul stopped and waved a hand at her making the poor girl stop dead in her tracks. "Mill', be a love and give me and Libby a few moments, Okay?"

By the look on Millie's face, he may as well just have told her she was dumped. She held the clipboard to her chest and nodded weakly. "Of course, Paul, I'll check on the catering."

"Good girl," Paul said he shroud off once more and Libby followed.

"I don't know what he's got," Libby conceded reluctantly. "Maybe it's the proof you wanted. That something really is going on up there at Ventrex. Like I said, Fred has gone to see the old doc."

For weeks now Freddie had been disappearing off to meet his 'inside man,' at Ventrex labs. He was supposedly a high up scientist at the place who knew all the skeletons in all the cupboards up there.

Ventrex was a supposedly independently funded research lab that was situated out in the middle of nowhere in the countryside. But it had been long suspected, especially by the various radical eco-warrior groups like the one Libby and Paul used to be such an active part of, as actually being a covert weapons lab. No one could prove anything of course, but just lately Freddie had gotten a real bee in his bonnet about the place. A bee that was bordering on an obsession of late.

Paul gave a short derisory snort. "Lib, come on. You haven't even met this guy. What if he's full of shit? What if his conscience is bothering him and talking anarchy with Freddie Holt every week makes him feel better about what he's really doing up at Ventrex? _If_ anything bad is actually going on up there. Ever think of that?"

The truth was, until this morning that's exactly what she thought. Although Freddie believed the old man wanted to help expose just what it was they really made up at the labs. She had to concede the possibility that Freddie really _needed_ it all to be true, so that he could be some knight in shining armour, the one who finally exposes Government collusion at Ventrex. After all she had a hard time accepting that someone with a fat M.O.D pay cheque and even fatter pension would give all that up. Just because it was the right thing to do.

However, she had always humoured Freddie, he would come back from meetings with the old man energised and he seemed harmless enough. But now she wasn't so sure. Now there was that nagging feeling at the back of her mind. Had he actually gotten proof?

Paul didn't have any faith in Freddie. But when it really came down to it, did she? "Look, Paul listen. Give Freddie until tonight. I'll get him to call you the moment I see him. And if it does prove to be all bullshit, give his slot over to someone else. Someone with something to say."

Paul nodded, his face softened a little and he slowed to a stop. He laid a hand on Libby's arm, left it there a little too long for Libby's liking, but she forced herself not to pull away or let her discomfort show in her face. "I'm sorry," Paul continued. "If I sound harsh. I know he's your boyfriend and all. It's just that...I don't want to see him make a fool out of you, that's all. The guy talks a great revolution, Lib, but I've never actually seen him do anything."

Paul paused and checked they were alone in the corridor, he lowered his voice to a whisper and lent forwards. "I mean, last year when we all trashed that scientist's house, I don't recall Freddie being there. In fact now I think of it, was he ever out in the field doing the shit?"

"You're right, but please, for me?" She hated herself for being so obviously manipulative but at least Paul seemed to relent a little at this and leant back.

He took a moment then continued in a more even tone. "Tomorrow night's important, Lib. I can't take the chance he's going to mess it all up with more wild claims about what they're doing at the Ventrex labs. I need facts about Ventrex. Something concrete. Not just the ravings of some old git who works up there." Lecture over; he finally took his hand off her arm. "Fair enough, Lib?"

Libby felt a pang of guilt. Deep down she really suspected Paul was right and that she could be making a colossal fool out of herself. And if it turned out Freddie really was full of shit, she'd kill him. She gave Paul her best meek smile. "Fair enough."

"Okay, then." He gave her a thankfully quick peck on the cheek and disappeared off into a nearby doorway.

"Christ, Freddie," Libby breathed and took out her mobile; she hit redial and waited for it to connect.

QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS

The claxon was deafening and strangely muted at the same time, like he was hearing it whilst his head was submerged in water. He'd heard it before of course, many times before during the regulation drills and the normal Wednesday test the alarm session, but this was different. This time it was just...Weird somehow.

The alarm blaring in his ear was probably the reason why Harper couldn't hear what the hell Frank was screaming at him from the other side of the room. He got the gist however; he was to stay put until Frank got back. All hell was breaking loose and Frank wanted to know why. With this he was out the door and away. Pretty sprightly for an old fella, Harper mused.

That was when he was hit by a huge sense of Deja vu, he had been through all this before, and recently, this must be what a flashback looked and felt like. It had to be, as everything was just a little off kilter, the security office was darker than it should have been, the doorway through which Frank had disappeared was crooked, like something out of a German impressionistic movie. Everything was just...Off slightly.

Frank's voice was deeper than usual, like a film running just a little too slow. Harper looked down at himself to see he was already covered in dried blood from a wound he hadn't gotten yet. He felt the right side of his head, and sure enough it was bandaged and had that sickening spongy texture. He turned to look at himself in a huge mirror that took up one side of the office wall, whereas in the real office there was just a row of lockers and a small shaving mirror you could just about see your head and shoulders in whilst straightening your tie before doing the rounds. And sure enough, the Peter Harper staring back at him was as pale as his once white shirt and with half his head missing.

A few moments later he heard the shot off in the distance. What had he done then at the time? Ah yes. Harper, moving like he was running through treacle set off out the crooked doorway and into the corridor. Another shot rang out, much closer this time with the report of a cannon going off. "Frank?" He'd shouted, and set off towards the gunfire. Bizarrely, as he ran he thought about his very first day on the job. He'd joked with Frank that they should be allowed to carry guns, to which Frank had replied that he was in the wrong country and should move to America where every bugger had one. Besides they did have Tasers. _'Didn't do you much good in hindsight, did it Frank?'_

Running at full pelt down the corridor, Harper had nearly tripped over Frank's blood soaked body as he came careering around a corner. He just managed to leap over it but his heel landed in the growing pool of blood gathering around Frank's body and his foot slipped right out from under him and he was sent sprawling backwards onto the hard floor where he finally skidded to a halt. He lay there on his backside staring at poor Frank's body; it was no less surreal in reality than now in his head as he remembered it. Frank's lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling; he had two ragged holes in his chest.

"Frank," he sobbed in disbelief. Then he had shouted it; "Frank!" As if that might somehow wake his friend.

Harper tore his gaze away from the dead man to see that further down the corridor there was a figure wearing a complete full body chemical protection suit, it was carrying a small metal flight case in one hand and a gun in the other. The spaceman began to raise the gun now in an odd strobing motion. It seemed to aim at him for an age. "Bastard," Harper spat at the strange looking killer. To which the figure tilted it's bug eyed head quizzically to one side and the last thing he remembered as he focused on the gun's cavernous barrel was that he'd wished to God that he lived in America.

***

Harper jolted awake at the sound of a shot. Disorientated it took him a moment to realise three things – One, that had been more than just a dream it was definitely a flashback, so that meant – Two, he was still in the cabin, a slow look around at his gloomy surroundings with his one good eye confirmed that. "Shit," he cursed, there was a smear of dark dried blood on the table in front of him where he must have had his head laid whilst he slept and in turn that meant three - He still wasn't dead, yet. The throbbing in side of his head was testament to that, he instinctively touched it. He winced, expecting to feel that sickening spongy texture but instead felt material. Logan must have re-bandaged his head while he was out cold.

There was no sign of the old man, so Harper braced himself against the table in front of him and gingerly tried to stand. His legs instantly gave out and his head swam. He was still far too weak to get up. He could only imagine how much blood he had lost. "Fuck it," his voice sounded slurred like he had been drinking, fucking brain damage he thought dimly.

"Unbelievable." Logan was standing in the doorway now drying his hands on a dish cloth. He shook his head in disbelief and entered. "Have to say, Harper. Didn't think you were going to wake from that one." He said and tossed the dish cloth back through the door. Into a kitchen? Harper wondered, trying to get some sense of the cottage's layout beyond this one room.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harper replied with effort. Logan sat down opposite him and Harper contemplated taking a swing at the bastard, maybe later he thought, when I'm stronger. He suddenly remembered the dream/flashback. "You shot Frank."

"Ah, so you're starting to remember." Logan said with no little surprise. "You truly are a remarkable man, Harper. By all rights you should be dead, or at the very least a vegetable. But here you sit. So, what do you remember?"

"I remember, I remember the sound of that God awful alarm."

"Ah, yes," Logan said ruefully. "Best laid plans and all that." He shook his head, which made it blur to Harper's damaged vision. It took him several seconds of concentration, for it to return to relative normality as Logan continued. "I opened a fire door. Can you believe that? Everything was going exactly as I'd planned, down to the finest detail. I had planned everything with a precision that would make a Swiss watch maker weep. Then, as I'm leaving, I go through the wrong door and set the fire alarm off. I'm sure a Psychologist would have something to say about that. Don't you think?"

Harper could only look at the old man dumbly, as Logan waited patiently for a reply. "Hum? He prompted. "Harper, you okay?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Harper replied falteringly. His heart skipped as he spoke, God his voice was so slurred and sounded an octave deeper than normal, the word fuck had come out _fffuthk_.

"Good point." Logan acknowledged. "So, what else do you remember?"

"Someone... Someone in one of those chemical protection suits." Harper was concentrating on every syllable as she spoke, it felt like he was speaking in a foreign language, each word took an age to find a meaning from thought to voice, it was almost as terrifying as his head wound and fucked up vision. "He had a gun, he shot Frank." Harper swallowed hard and tasted blood. "You shot Frank," he added bitterly after what could have been a full minute for all he knew.

"And you." Logan reminded him. "So, Frank, that was his name! You know it's been driving me mad ever since? To be honest, the Chemical Protection suit was more for show than anything. I figured if they thought I'd actually smashed one of the vials, it would cause panic. That's how I got away. That and the gun of course."

"You didn't have to kill him."

"I didn't have a choice, everyone was being evacuated, it was all going so well, and then old... What's his name?"

"Frank. Frank Webster." Harper said with distain.

"Sorry, yes, so old Frank shows up, brandishing that Taser thingy. The damn fool wouldn't let me pass."

"So you shot him in cold blood, you maniac." The old man shrugged. Harper was seriously reconsidering that punch now. Logan's manner was so blasé, he was talking about killing Frank like it was a minor inconvenience in some well-oiled plan he had. He was probably more concerned about the cost of the bullets than a good man's life.

"And then you come running around the corner, like the bloody cavalry" Logan said.

"I heard the shots." Harper got a flash of Frank laid awkwardly on the floor, it made him physically wince.

"How much do you get paid Harper?" Logan asked.

"What?" Harper said wearily, he just felt so God damned tired, his head was throbbing worse than ever now, and he wasn't in the mood for twenty questions with this nutter.

"Being a security guard," Logan continued. "What is it? Five, six pounds an hour, tops? I mean, it's not exactly rocket science, is it? Both of you died for six pounds an hour. And you call me a maniac?"

Harper desperately wanted to fly across the table and throttle the murdering bastard, and if he had one more ounce of energy he would have. He told himself to remain calm, deep breaths. The more agitated he got, the more his head throbbed.

"Frank was just doing his job." Harper replied with a measured tone. "And I'm not dead just yet, doctor."

Logan cracked a grin. "Well put, Peter," he said with what sounded like genuine admiration. "I've got a feeling there's a lot more life left in you yet. Who knows, maybe you'll be one of the two per cent." He mused.

"What are you talking about? Two per cent of what?" Harper asked, his head was feeling like he was wearing a two tonne hat, he could feel the muscles in the back of his neck straining at the effort of keeping it at eye level.

Then Logan stood up, ignoring his question. "You're got such a spirit in you, Peter. A will to live. Most people get shot in the head at point blank range and that's your lot. But you? What's keeping you alive? Are you married, kids?"

Harper was flagging now, he just wanted Logan to go, to let him sleep. Although the thought of sleep came with a nagging doubt at the back of his mind that he might not wake up. This was all tempered though with the need to know what Logan wanted with him.

"Why did you bring me here? Why not just leave me to bleed to death in the lab?" He asked.

The old man suddenly looked troubled, his brow furrowed as he wrestled with the question. "That's just it. Why? The truth is..." He was clearly struggling with the answer and had been probably since he'd shot Harper back at the lab. Harper watched his perplexed face as he sat there. There was something in his manner. This was a man used to having all the answers, especially for his own well thought out actions. After a full half minute Logan finally continued. "The truth is, I don't know." He said. "After I shot you, I had ditched the suit and was on my way out, mixed in with all the others. Nice orderly evacuation, just like the drills. It was the strangest thing. I'd done it, gotten clean away. I knew it would take the army at least twenty minutes to lock the place down. More than enough time to slip away in all the confusion."

Logan stared off into space; it was a mystery to him. He gave a little almost contrite shake of the head. "It's, it's hard to explain. It was like a voice in my head, no not a voice, a feeling. A feeling of absolute certainty that I was supposed to bring you here, no matter what the risk. That you have some part to play in all this." He smiled apologetically at Harper. "I just don't know what that part is yet."

"You're not making any fucking sense." Harper told him. "Why am I here?"

The doctor had that faraway look in his eye again and didn't seem to hear. After a moment he walked back over to the doorway, but paused as he reached it. "Strange," he said his voice laced with real audible melancholy. "So hard to explain. But the fact you are still alive after taking a bullet in the head, and walking and talking... Well talking at least. It was just something I had to do, it nearly balls'd everything up. I had hell on dragging you to the car, I half expected the army to show up at any moment and that would have been an end to it. But still I got away. Fate, that's the only explanation I've got at the moment."

Logan's face suddenly bloomed with realisation. "Christ, that would explain opening the wrong door and setting off the alarm in the first place. It was like, one minute it was going like clockwork, the next I deliberately, albeit subconsciously, threw a spanner in the works. That's strange, isn't it Harper? We would never have met if I hadn't set off the alarm, you wouldn't be here. Which the more I think about it, just has to be. Something in my subconscious made me do it."

Then just as quickly as he had slipped into that rabbling self-reflection, he seemed to shake it off like a heavy coat on a hot day. "Anyway," he dismissed, brighter now. "You should try rest, Harper, we'll talk again soon. I've still got so much I want to tell you, maybe that's why you're here, to bear witness. Oh and the pain killer I gave you earlier may start to wear off in a while. I'm sure you'll let me know when it does."

And with that he was gone, leaving Harper with his head spinning, alone in his very own brain damaged waking nightmare. He closed his eyes as the room began to join his head.

BATH SALTS AND MEMORIES

When, Libby wondered as he soaked in a much needed hot bath, did life become so complicated? It was nearly eight pm and Freddie was still AWOL, she had given up hours ago trying to call his mobile, if he had such earth shattering news then where the hell was he? His message had gone from the enigmatic to the downright maddening as the day had dragged on. If he was hiding somewhere because his great revelation had turned out to be bullshit, then she was going to kill Freddie Holt.

Things had been so much easier when she was younger and still had that iron willed fighting spirit she had been so proud of. That was a time of black and whites, us against ' _them_ '. A time (although it made her blush now thinking of it) when Libby truly believed she could change the world. She wondered when it was that she had become so jaded by it all. Back in the day, which in truth wasn't so many years ago. She and her friends, comrades as she had thought of them then, would stay up all night, painting banners and placards and plot revolution with the help of a few bottles of wine and the exuberance of youth. Then they would march until their feet bled in support of this cause or that.

They used to live by that line from an old Marlon Brando movie. 'Just what the hell are you rebelling against?' The man had asked Brando. 'What ya got?" Came the reply.

It seemed back then they were angry at anything and everything. Some wanted to topple capitalism, others, Libby amongst them, championed ecological change. She had briefly flirted with 'Earth First' the shadowy eco-terrorist organisation. That was where she first met Paul; he was five years older than her and at the time seemed to have all the answers. She had only been in her early twenties and had developed a major crush on him. Christ, that seemed so ludicrous now. She thought of his new flame, Millie the poor cow had the same doe eyed look in her eyes as Libby had had before she saw through the endless rhetoric.

But over the years, as they all approached and passed the dreaded thirty. The hard core of them had one by one slowly melted away into so called normal lives. Sarah and Bill, two of her closest friends at the time, were married now, the last she had heard, with two kids and both probably voted Lib-Dem these days and drove Volvos. And if she was honest, she too had lost the fire in her belly, two years ago at the ripe old age of thirty one, she had succumbed to the lure of a steady pay check and now worked for the citizens advice bureau, of all places.

Still, at least she could take some comfort from the fact she was still helping people fight government bureaucracy in her own small way. She still attended meetings on social and ecological issues, supported Paul in his bid for the local council in her way. But as she lay there in the streaming hot bath soaking away the frustrations of the day, she had to admit it was all so, so vanilla.

Now that she thought of it, Freddie was her one saving grace, or so she had hoped, he was three years younger than her and had arrived on the scene late on, just as the group was beginning to fall quietly apart. He still had that fire in him, the passion for change, but these days she was reminded of what Paul had pointed out earlier. Freddie was a great talker, he wrote for a plethora of blogs and websites dedicated to ecological and anti-capitalism agendas. But apart from that, what had he really done? His latest passion was Ventrex labs up near Settle in the dales.

Ventrex was officially a private pharmaceutical research lab, but for conspiracy theorists like Freddie it was a façade for something much more sinister. That was how he had first come into contact with a tech guy who worked up there, Doctor Logan, who had contacted Freddie four months ago after reading an article he had written on Ventrex for the Socialist Worker of all things. Apparently, according to Freddie, Logan was a high ranking research scientist up there and just recently he had begun to confide in Freddie that there was more going on at Ventrex than meets the eye.

There was a time in their three years together that Libby thought she loved Freddie Holt, but lately she had the nagging doubt that perhaps it was his passion she was still attracted to, that link to a past of protest and dreams of a better world. It was a sobering thought, and with it came the realisation that she really wanted Logan to be on the level, she was pinning everything, her much lamented lost passion for change and more soberly her feelings for Freddie on it. She knew that if this whole Logan thing was just more bullshit, then it would spell the end of their relationship, and with it an end to her dreams of change.

Freddie would fade away, Paul would no doubt go on to bigger and better things, might even end up an MP in years to come. And all she would be left with would be nothing but the bitter memory of that head strong Student eco-warrior she used to be. And with that tears came.

DON'T CALL ME DENNIS!

After Libby had soaked herself into a prune she managed to summon up enough energy to dry herself off, throw on a bath robe and pad down stairs into the kitchen. The whole down stairs of the house was in darkness and she didn't even bother to put in the lights, she liked the dark when she was alone, but still he realised as she stood in the kitchen she had half hoped Freddie would be sitting in the front room, waiting with excuses and ' _wonderful, terrible_ ' news. But she was on her own tonight and so be it.

Libby opened the fridge, took out a nicely chilled bottle of white wine and found herself the biggest wine glass she had. She poured herself a generous amount and contemplated an evening of empty headed late night TV and polishing off most if not all of the bottle, she had already decided she was going to call in sick tomorrow, which was Friday so a heavy head and a lie in wasn't a problem in the morning, Freddie or no Freddie.

Libby lent against the work surface and took a long cool drink of wine, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation as the wine gave her a much needed buzz and knew it would soon help take the edge of a shitty day. She checked her phone which was sitting on the work surface next to her and wasn't surprised to see she had no messages, it was now eight thirty. Libby took another larger swig and decided to refill the half empty glass before slumping down in front to the TV.

A clatter coming from the garage which was accessible through a door to her right which lead from the kitchen directly into the garage made her start. "Shit," she spilled some of the wine on her hand, she put the glass down and found a kitchen towel and dried her hand. It was only now that she noticed a thin shaft of light that coming from under the door. "Freddie?"

She opened the door, but it wasn't the sight of her missing in action boyfriend she was greeted by. "Dennis?"

"Hey sis!" It was her twenty year old younger brother Dennis. He was kneeling by his motor bike, his clothes and face smeared with what looked like oil. He was putting a new tire on the front; two other tires caked in mud lay on the garage floor close by.

"Den, what the hell are you doing here?" She asked. It was freezing in the garage and Libby wrapped the bath robe tighter around her, her soles of her bare feet stung when she stepped onto the hard cold concrete floor.

"Sorry sis, couldn't do this at Mum and Dad's," he said without turning around from wrestling with the tire. "And don't call me Dennis!" He complained. "It's Crazy Earl now, remember? Or at least Craze, or even Earl will do."

"You're my brother and your name is and always will be Dennis." He gave her a sour look and returned to his work.

Dennis had always hated his name, it was cute when he was nine, when he really was a little Dennis the Menace, but he had been teased about it all through school so he had adopted the nick name _Crazy Earl_ after a character in the Kubrick Movie Full Metal Jacket. Most people called him it to humour him and in its way it did suit him. But Libby had always steadfastly refused. These days more out of spite than anything, she had to admit she still got a kick out of his face when she called him Dennis.

"And once again. What the hell are you doing here?" She had regretted giving Den his own key the moment she did it last year.

"See the news today?" He asked without looking around but she could tell he was grinning.

"No, I've been busy all day. You know some of us actually have things called jobs?" This won a shrug of the shoulders from her brother, who began humming tunelessly. "And anyway what's the news got to do with you playing mechanic in my garage?"

"Check it out," Dennis reached over and pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his biker jacket that was hung on one of the bike's handlebars. He tossed it to Libby who caught it.

She opened it up to see screaming headlines; ' _Terror on the fairways_ '. The banner was over a black and white picture of what at first looked to Libby like a road accident, several burnt out car littered all over the place. She forgot all about her freezing feet as she read on.

"God, Den, no." She mumbled in disbelief, the cold from her feet leapt up and grabbed a hold of her guts. "Tell me this wasn't anything to do with you."

"Let's just say, those Allied Chemical tossers arrived expecting a buffet, but it soon turned into a mother fucking Bar-be-que." He laughed out loud at this.

She scanned the article and thanked God that it didn't mention any casualties, just hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of damage, no suspects as yet, but the police haven't ruled out Eco-terrorist threats levelled at high up Allied Chemical board members after they had settled their outstanding court case earlier.

She looked up from the paper and at Dennis who had just put the finishing touches to the new tire, he took out a cloth and began cleaning black smudges off the bikes usually red petrol tank. She felt sick and colder than ever. "Say's here the assailant escaped on a black motor bike." It wasn't oil as she had first thought it was paint. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Libby exploded, she threw the paper at Dennis.

"Hey, take it easy. And don't you lecture me! I was out there last night doing something. Out there doing something worthwhile!" He shouted, Libby took a step back, she had never seen him so angry. "Those fuckers think they can just do whatever the hell they want! You said so yourself, pumping all that shit into the sea." He was seething now at her reaction, but what had he expected? Praise?

"Den, you could have got yourself killed, or worse still someone else!" Libby's hands came up to her face, she felt like she had been slapped, she was shaking with anger and shock in equal measure. "God, Dennis, Jesus, what were you thinking?" She shook her head in disbelief. And then it suddenly hit her, all the years he had followed her around, since he was a little kid.

Dennis was quite a few years younger than her, but she had always let him tag along when they went on marches back in the early days, it had all started off so harmlessly enough, he had always loved making the placards. Then as he had gotten older and she had become more radicalized she hadn't realised how much he too had changed. Silly little Crazy Earl. But what had gone wrong? How could she have been so blind, somewhere along the way he had drifted from harmless protesting to this? Terrorist plain and simple. "Dennis," she uttered feeling tears threatening to come. "Jesus, if you get caught you'll get ten years!"

Dennis jumped to his feet, his self-righteousness fading with each second seeing her reaction. "Jesus, Lib, take it easy. They can't prove shit, I disguised the bike, I'll dump the old tires so they can't trace me that way, the golf course is out in the middle of know where, no cameras once you get back onto the main road." He took a hold of her arms, "I'm not stupid, Libby. I've been planning something like this for weeks."

"Where, where did you get the explosives?" She asked weakly.

Dennis pulled her close; he squeezed her so hard she could hardly breathe. When had he gotten so grown up? "Children of Mother Earth," he whispered. "Remember?"

Of course, a few months ago Dennis had begun hanging around with what she had always thought of as a wannabe Earth First Eco-terrorist group, mainly made up of angry young men who did little else but get drunk and talk anarchy. _The Children of Mother Earth_ , they called themselves. They would show up at protests, always looking to start trouble, they talked big and loudly about direct action instead of words, but no one had ever taken them seriously, least of all Libby, she remembered how she herself had felt when she was his age, ready to take on the world.

No one had taken them seriously, until now. Their so called leader, a skin head from Manchester had been arrested for assaulting a police officer at a G8 Protest and that had been that, or so everyone had thought. Libby had been relieved to hear they had disbanded; the rhetoric Dennis had been spouting towards the end had genuinely started to scare her. But still she never thought he would act on any of it, especially now months later.

"That's where you got the explosives?" She asked.

He nodded and held her at arm's length. "Yeah, and the training. Mossy, one of the head honcho's there had been in the army, served in Afghanistan and everything. He had contacts, showed us what to do, it's actually pretty easy once you get the hang of it."

"Hang of it?" She said incredulously. "Christ! How long have you been blowing shit up?"

"Ages, nothing big, out in Brier Woods mainly." He said, his cheeks flushing.

"And I thought you were off camping!" She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and exhaled. She looked at him. He was a man now and somewhere along the way she had missed it. "Jesus," she breathed and shook her head.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's okay, I was careful." He gave her a puppy dog look.

"Shithead!" She said and gave him a punch on the arm. And all of a sudden he was just her kooky little brother again. "This is the first and last time you do anything this fucking stupid. Okay?"

He rubbed his arm where she had punched him and gave her a cocky grin. "Ow, you know violence doesn't solve anything."

"Dennis, I mean it. I don't want you hanging out with those assholes anymore. Protesting is one thing, this is borderline psychotic."

"That's why they call me Crazy Earl," he said and went back down on to his knees to tend to his bike. "And it's alright, you don't need to worry, to be honest I've been shitting myself all day." He chuckled to himself. "Hey, you have to admit though it was still fucking cool."

It was but she would be damned if she would let him know that. "And once again. You are an asshole!" She said and kicked him in the arse.

Libby watched him change the tire as her initial shock began to subside. No one had been hurt, that was the main thing, but still there was that nagging guilt, if he got into serious trouble, or worst still blew himself up, she couldn't help but feel responsible.

***

"So what's with you and Freddie then?" Dennis asked when he had finally finished wiping the black temporary paint from his bike some twenty minutes later. He took a fresh rag and began cleaning his hands.

Libby was on her second glass of wine, but it still couldn't erase the thought of her little brother being an eco-terrorist. "Huh?" She grunted distracted.

"You guys have a fight again or what?" He got to his feet groaning theatrically and holding his back.

"No, why?" Libby asked wishing she hadn't gone back in the house for more wine; the alcohol was making her thoughts sluggish.

"Well, he's been parked outside in the street for nearly an hour now." Dennis replied throwing a thumb over his left shoulder to the garage door. "I figured you had finally kicked him out or something."

"You are joking!" Libby snapped angrily. She edged passed Dennis and his bike and over to the garage door, she peered through the small grubby Perspex window in it. Her car, which Freddie had borrowed this morning, was parked out on the street in front of the house. "Son of a bitch!" She exclaimed and held out the half empty wine glass to Dennis, who claimed it gratefully.

"Don't mind if I do," Dennis said and drained the glass in one.

But Libby only had eyes on the street outside. With great effort she opened the heavy door which tilted up and then folded back on its self. She didn't wait for it to fully fold away before she ducked under it and came out into the cold night air. "Shit," she gritted her teeth, it was freezing outside and not for the first time tonight she wished he had put her old lady (but comfortable and warm) slippers on. But at least it cleared her head.

"Just remember Sis," she heard Dennis say from behind her. "Violence solves nothing."

"You stay were you are dickhead," Libby said sharply without turning around. "And tidy up that mess." Dennis gave a disappointed groan which she ignored as she marched across the driveway and out into the street. Up ahead, she could just about make out Freddie in the car's dark interior sitting behind the wheel. Staring straight ahead.

He didn't move as she came up to the car and she was about to hammer on the window when she got a glimpse of her reflection in the cars side window. "Christ," she flushed and for a moment some of the anger melted away. She was bare foot out in the middle of the street in a tatty dressing gown. She looked ridiculous, but was still unbowed if a little embarrassed.

Libby chanced a look around the street to see if any curtains were twitching, thankfully all the neighbours were lost in soap opera land at this time of evening.

She had been worried sick about Freddie ever since he had left that stupid message on her phone this morning. And here he was sitting in the dark unable to bring himself to come inside, and to her that could only mean one thing and she vocalized it. "You're full of Shit, Holt!" She shouted, her stomach was churning with a toxic mixture of anger, disappointment and a deep sense of hopelessness. She had put her faith in this man and now she was going to look like an idiot in front of Paul. Worse still, she cursed herself for being so naive.

In the nine or ten steps it took her to go around the other side of the car to the driver's side, Libby had already decided enough was enough, they were through. Even now he didn't look at her, he just kept staring out through the windscreen and off down the thankfully deserted street. Her anger flared up once more and she knocked hard on the side window. "Freddie! You fu-" The curse word stuck in her throat as he finally looked up at her and she caught the look in his bloodshot eyes. He was utterly terrified and that look froze Libby more than the cold night air.

He mouthed something she couldn't hear and suddenly she didn't want to hear what had gotten him so scared. Libby began to shake, her stomach knotted as the window began to lower, she winced, out in the open, lit by the sickly fluorescent street lights his face was even more ashen and his red eyes were rimmed with dark shadows. Fresh tears welled in his eyes and he tried to speak again but the words came out as little more than a dry croak.

"Freddie?" She whispered, her voice sounded as insubstantial as the mist her breath made. "What's happened?"

SOMETHING WONDERFUL AND TERRIBLE

Freddie sat on the sofa nursing his second glass of wine, his hands were shaking so much he had spilt just about as much as he had drunk. He looked to Libby like a man with a burden he was desperate to unload, but this was tempered with a fear that once the words were spoken out loud they would become all too real. She knelt in front of him and gently rubbed his legs and for what must have been the fourth time since the car he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't formulate the words. He shook his head and cursed under his breath, then took another sip of wine.

Libby heard Dennis take a sharp intake of breath. He was standing in the corner of the room with his arms wrapped around himself a look of apprehension on his face. Both Libby and Dennis were all of a sudden in no hurry to hear what news Freddie had gotten from the old man. She would have to press him soon enough, she knew. But it was like waiting to be told your parents were dead. News you needed to hear, but dreaded all the same.

"Fred, come on," Libby coaxed as gently as she could. "What happened? Did you go see Logan?" Freddie winced at the old man's name, he stared off into space. "Hey," she shook his knees and he finally looked at her. "It's okay, it's me. You're home now. Talk to me." He just exhaled in response, and out of nowhere Libby felt a flash of anger. She bit her lip and told herself to take it easy.

"Christ, Fred," Dennis uttered from behind her. "No offence dude, but you look like shit."

At last a flicker of life danced across Freddie's moist eyes, he smiled ever so slightly. "To be honest," he croaked. "That's exactly how I feel." He took a large swig of wine. "Phew, that's better."

"Feel a bit more human now?" Libby asked.

He stroked her cheek and bend forwards to kiss her. Libby met his kiss, he smelt of good wine, sweat and for want of a better word, fear. "Yeah," he said and sat back on the sofa. "Don't know where to start."

"Start with Logan," Libby said. She pulled herself up onto the sofa next to him. But sat on the edge of the seat to match her mood. "You went to see him, right? Like you said you were going to?"

"Called him, I bought a cheap pay as you go, y'know, just in case?" He fell silent again clearly trying to make sense of something. Then he turned and looked Libby right in the eyes, they flared with a mixture of wonder and terror. "He's done it." And a weight seemed to drop off his shoulders.

"Done it, done what?" She was aware of the edge of irritation creeping into her voice but it was too late.

Then the flood gates finally seemed to open or so Libby hoped.

"You know Logan works up at Ventrex, in research? He says they have been working on some kind of new deadly as fuck virus?"

Libby nodded, this was old news everyone knew there was more going on at Ventrex than mere pharmaceutical research, they had all heard the rumours, from weapons research all the way down to creating hybrid creatures. There had to be some truth in there somewhere but it was impossible to find amongst all the conspiracy theory bullshit it was covered in.

"Fucking covert weapons research," Dennis said clapping his hands with glee. "I fuckin' knew it!"

Libby held out a hand to silence him. "But does he have proof, Fred?" She asked. At first he didn't answer, his face took on a haunted look. "Freddie, come on," she coaxed, this time keeping her tone soft, the last thing Freddie needed right now was a slap in the face, verbal or otherwise. "This time you were going to ask him for proof, remember? Something we can use against them. Has he done it? Smuggled out some documents or something?"

"He's stolen it," Freddie said. "He's taken the damn thing itself."

For a moment, Libby couldn't find her voice, Dennis sucked in air behind her. She shook her head not really taking in what he had just said. "Taken it? Taken what?" She asked after swallowing hard.

His eyes flared. "The Virus," he said. "Logan has stolen the virus. Fuck documents, he has got the thing itself."

"What, Freddie are you sure?" All of a sudden she desperately wanted Freddie to be full of shit again. She realized just how much safer they all would be if this was all just more bullshit. Her heart began hammering in her chest. _Isn't this what you wanted?_ A voice in her head said harshly, it was the long forgotten anarchist wannabe she had once been.

This time Freddie's gaze was firm, he nodded grimly. "Positive, he wouldn't lie about something like that. He's got it now." He paused, the tendons in his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth. "And he wants to... Wants to meet up. He wants to give it to me..." Freddie's voice trailed off.

Libby's head was spinning. _If this is true, if this really is true..._

"Jesus, Christ." Dennis breathed; she had almost forgotten her brother was standing in the corner. He strode forwards; his face was lit up in awe, eyes as wide as saucers. "Proof," he said. "Proof fucking positive. Shit."

"Yeah," Freddie whispered, he took a breath. "Logan wants me to take it to the rally tomorrow. Show the world, he said. As undeniable proof of what they are doing up there."

_Can't be._ Libby tried to marshal her thoughts, to think straight. "You can't be serious, he just took it?"

"Yesterday, right from under their fucking noses, apparently." His voice was shaking audibly with fear.

"There hasn't been anything on the news," Dennis said.

Libby almost laughed out loud at this. "Christ Dennis, think about it. They are hardly going to let this get into the news, are they? Can you imagine?" She adopted a Newsreaders articulation. "And here's the news. Deadly genetically engineered virus stolen form a government funded research lab, by one of its own employees." She hissed through her teeth before adding. "And next, here's Jeff with the fucking sport."

"Okay, okay," Dennis said with a sullen look on his face.

_"If_ ," and she emphasized the word. " _If_ this is true, we have to keep our heads." She told her brother sternly, God she wished he wasn't here for this. Christ only knew what ' _Crazy Earl_ ' and his play pals would do if they got a hold of the virus.

Freddie stared at the empty wine glass in his hand as he twisted it by the stem so the light danced off the alcohol streaked glass. "Logan says it's capable of wiping out ninety eight per cent of the world's population. Can you imagine that? He says it makes the Ebola virus look like Man flu." He smiled humourlessly at this. Freddie placed the glass carefully on the coffee table in front of him and turned to Libby. "What are we going to do?"

"You really believe him? She asked.

He nodded but didn't speak. The truth was they would find out soon enough.

"Fuck!" Dennis exclaimed. He began pacing the carpet enthused. "Jesus Christ, this is it," he said. "We've gotta call Paul. He's going to want to be part of this. Can you imagine their fucking faces at the rally? Shit, you'll be top of the bill Fred. Top of the bill."

"Whoa, just hold on a sec'," Freddie got to his feet. "There's things to consider. This is really fucking big." He sounded scared out of his wits. Like a cornered animal searching for a way out.

"Freddie, take it easy," Libby said. She stood up to and moved to touch his shoulder but he stepped away, his face wracked with indecision, despite the cold of the room he was sweating. "Come on. Just relax a second," she told him realizing she was the only cool head in the room. "You need to be absolutely sure about this. Think about what you're saying. What if the old man's lying?"

"He's not," Freddie replied, his eyes flitting around nervously.

"But you need to be absolutely sure." Libby said. "I need to be sure. You're going to look pretty stupid announcing this to the world, only for him to get cold feet and deny everything." What she really meant was that she would look stupid in front of everyone, particularly Paul. She hated the fact that she cared what that man thought, but she did, especially when it came to his opinion of Freddie. Not for Freddie's sake, but for her decision to choose him over Paul when Paul was clearly going places leaving her and everyone else from the old days behind. "Freddie," she continued. "If this is all true. They'll put Logan away for life."

"He knows that." Freddie said. "But I trust him. For better or worse, if he says he's done this. Then he's done it." He ran his hands through his thick shoulder length hair. "You should have heard him. Believe me he's committed to this. It was almost... Almost scary the way he spoke."

Libby got a sudden rush of euphoria that washed away at least some of her initial scepticism. Freddie believed the old man, that much was clear from his voice. And so she allowed herself to half believe it to and that was good enough for now. She hugged Freddie tightly and kissed him on the cheek. "This is incredible," she kissed him again and spun around to slap Dennis playfully on the arm.

"Ow!" Dennis cried but was grinned back all the same. "We should call Paul," he said. "He'll know what to do."

Out of nowhere, Libby felt a real surge of power rise up in her gut. "Right now," she said. "He'll do what we tell him to do. This is our deal, he'll just be glad to be part of it." She grew serious. "But we run this show now, just us. Den, you call him, but be vague. You're good at that"

"Very funny," Dennis said. "And would it kill you to call me Crazy Earl?"

"Shit," she said. "If this comes off I promise never to call you anything else. _If_ ," She added gravely giving him a look.

"Deal, I'm on it," He took his mobile out of his pocket.

"No," Freddie said sharply. He took out his own phone. "Use this," he tossed it to Dennis who caught it. "It's new, they won't know the number if they are monitoring Paul's calls."

But they will know its Dennis anyway, Libby thought but didn't say it. Freddie wasn't thinking straight and that was a worry, she knew she would have to steer him through this. She had always been stronger than him and now more than ever she would need to be.

She regarded Freddie coldly for a moment as he stood there, he was terrified, his face set in a grim frown. This was what he had always talked about. Getting something big like this and she wasn't going to let him falter now. No matter what.

Freddie flopped back down on the sofa as Dennis went through into the kitchen. He poured himself another glass of liquid courage and drained half of it in one go. Tears welled in his eyes, from the alcohol or fear Libby didn't know. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and exhaled long and hard.

"Freddie, what's wrong?" Libby said trying to keep her voice soft. He looked so weak and helpless sitting there but once again she was shocked that she only felt a coldness towards him. Maybe it was her own fear or maybe she just wanted him to be stronger now that his time had come. She took a moment before continuing to make sure there was warmth in her voice this time. She felt strange, almost like she was acting the part of the concerned girlfriend. So much had changed in a matter of minutes. Again she allowed herself to think this all might just be in the old man's head. Just some old fool telling Freddie, his willing audience, what he wanted to hear.

"Freddie," she said and knelt down in front of him once more, she rested her arms in his shaking knees. "Isn't this what you're always wanted? Proof positive of what they are really doing up there?" He nodded ever so slightly and took another sip, at least his hands had stopped shaking a little. "If this is true..."

"It is," he insisted looking at her now. Freddie had never been much of a liar and Libby could see the truth in his eyes. He believed.

"If this is true," she went on. "Once this gets out, the whole place will come crashing down. And it will be all down to you." He winced, that last part may have been an error, Libby thought. "Us," she added softly. "I'm with you all the way Freddie. _We_ can do this."

"I know," he said so quietly she had to strain to hear. "It's just, it's just," his voice wavered, thick with fear.

"Just what?" She said too sharply, she cursed herself as he flinched, delicate steps, Libby, she counselled herself. But it was getting so God damned hard. They could be on the verge of something amazing and Freddie looked like his fucking dog had just died.

"I don't know, okay? Fuck..." He stumbled over his words as if shocked that she didn't know what he was going through. "It's just. This is serious, y'know?" He pleaded. "We have to think about this, think about what it all means. What it will do to us."

"Fred, the rally is tomorrow night! Can't you see this is perfect? What is there to think about?" She asked.

"Everything!" He shouted and leapt to his feet sending the wine glass tumbling, spilling its guts all over the carpet. Libby let out a cry of shock at the outburst, Freddie was many thing's but violent wasn't one of them. It was like the fear turned to anger in the space between two heartbeats. He paced the floor like a caged animal, wringing his hands. "Can't you see? Once we start down this path, there's no turning back." He stopped mulling over those last few words. "No turning back," he added weakly. And the rage seemed to drain right out of him as quickly as it had come on.

"I know," Libby said, she could feel her heart beating fit to burst through her chest as she got to her feet. "But this is it. This is what we've been working towards all these years. This is what we've... You've dreamed of, Freddie!" She watched him as he began pacing once more, not able to look her in the eye again. "Isn't it?" She pressed.

"Yeah, yeah of course," he said sounding less than convinced. "It's just..."

_'It's just_...' Libby almost heard herself control snap. "Fucking hell!" She shouted and this time it was Freddie who started in shock. _Calm, calm, keep calm_ , she told herself, but it was almost impossible now. "There you go again. It's just, it's just. It's just what? Huh?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"It's just what?" She asked again. "That you've lost your nerve?"

"No," he protested. "I just need a little time, to process all this." He was sweating now, she had never seen him look so lost and somewhere deep inside the red hot anger churning in her guts, she felt a stab of cool sympathy. Libby concentrated on that, silently nurturing the emotion like an unwanted child, it was the only way she could look at him right now.

"Christ," Freddie went on. "I never actually expected him to steal the thing." Tears threatened again, but he bit them back. "Jesus, I just thought he would smuggle out some papers or shit. Y'know, proof?"

"Come on, what more proof could he give you?" Libby took a hold of his arm, he tried to pull away but she wouldn't let him. Finally he looked her in the eye and she felt her face soften ever so slightly seeing his raw distress. "I know you're scared, Christ so am I. But if the old man really has done this, we have to move fast."

"It's not that easy, Lib'," Freddie said.

"You were the one who was always ranting on about feeling so helpless..." She replied.

"I know," Freddie said dully, his shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

"Is that all you are, Freddie?" Libby said coldly. "Just talk? All those times I defended you to Paul and the others. Maybe they were right after all."

"No," Freddie winced like she had just knifed him in the ribs, he straightened.

"So what's changed?"

"Nothing, everything..." he pulled away and ran his fingers through his hair again like he always did when he was under pressure. "Christ, my heads all over the place." He frowned and gave her a despairing look.

"We have to do this, Freddie," Libby whispered and moved over to him again. She touched his clammy cheek tenderly. She felt like such a fraud all of a sudden, what she really wanted to do was slap that cheek, but instead she stroked it. Freddie smiled slightly and took her hand and kissed it. "I'm with you," she said and wondered when she had gotten so manipulative. "Don't lose your nerve."

"But that's just it. What if I do lose my nerve?" Freddie replied. "What if I can't do this?"

She took his face in her hands and gently kissed him. "You're not alone," she said. "I'm with you, I'll be with you every step of the way." He tried a smile. "Listen, if this comes off, we will change the world forever." She continued. "And anything that important can't be easy. We will be slap bang in the middle of history." She let the words hang between them and after a moment kissed him again. "History."

"I'm so scared," Freddie blurted out and pulled her to him squeezing the breath right out of her.

"Me too," she told him.

"I love you," he whispered, but she just squeezed him back.

Dennis came sheepishly back in the room looking weary. "You too made up yet? Good," he said with relief. "Paul's still at his office. He says we should come over, and yes I was suitably vague."

"We?" Libby said raising her eyebrows and pulled herself away from Freddie.

"Hey, fuck that," Dennis replied, hurt. "I'm in this too you know? There is no way you are leaving me out of this. No fucking way."

Libby shook her head with resignation, he was in, like it or not. "Mum is going to kill me."

"We'll be fucking heroes," Dennis said his face brightening.

"Am I the only one who's thought about the fact that we will have a weapon of mass destruction in our hands?" Freddie asked. He glanced from Libby to Dennis but found no allies.

"I'm sure it'll be safe," Dennis dismissed.

"Den is right," Libby agreed. "Besides, he hasn't given us anything yet. And until he does, we don't know what we might be getting." _If anything at all_ , she thought, but kept that to herself.

SHOW AND TELL

.

"Pete? Pete, wake up," it was a child's voice, whispered right into his ear. A familiar voice Harper couldn't quite place. But it was one he knew almost as well as his own; of that much he was sure. "Pete, open your eyes you t-i-t." The child chuckled at this and a face came into Harpers mind's eye. It was Tommy, his older brother, when they had been kids they had gone through a phase of spelling swear words instead of coming right out and saying them, as if that wasn't like swearing at all. They only did it out of ear shot of their parents all the same. If it was one thing their Dad John Harper hated, it was kids swearing. That and Manchester United Football club. They were both as bad as each other in their Father's eyes and if anything Peter and his brother Tommy used to joke that he would rather hear them say fuck than Man United, or God forbid praise one of their players.

But Tommy Harper was thirty four now, he was a grown man, married with a three year old daughter, yet Harper could plainly hear him whispering to him from some twenty odd years ago. "Tom?" Harper said and started in shock, his own voice was that of a ten year old too. "What the..." Bizarrely he stopped himself before adding. "F-u-c-k?" This made Tommy giggle again, a sweet sound from a better life.

"Oh, Pete you nearly said it," Fourteen year old Tommy Harper chided. "T-o-s-s-e-r."

"Tommy, I don't understand..." It was so damn strange hearing his voice like that. Harper opened his eyes but could only see a glaring brightness, like he was staring straight into a light. He grew fearful, his young heart fluttering like a bird's wings in his chest. "Tommy, I'm scared."

Harper could feel he was laid on his back in bed, but something was keeping him from being able to move anything but his head. He pictured his old room and tried to imagine himself there with Tommy sitting on the bed next to him, to remember what that would have looked like, as if that would somehow give substance to it, make it come into focus.

"Scaredy cat, scaredy cat, sitting on the door mat," Tommy sung softly.

"Am I dreaming?" Ten year old Peter asked his young voice thick with emotion. "Am I... D-e-a-d?"

"Open your eyes, Pete," Tommy told him.

"I, I have," Paul replied hesitantly. This won him a snort of laughter from his brother.

"No you haven't, you c-o-c-k," more mischievous laughter.

"Open your eyes. I got something to show you." Tommy said.

Harper concentrated now, he squeezed his eyes tight shut and felt this force tears down his young cheeks, but still he could only see the whiteness despite this. He let out a little sob and then slowly opened his eyes again, willing himself to see.

"That's it," Tommy encouraged. And with this Tommy's face bled out of the brightness over him and the room finally came into focus behind his brother, and now Harper could see why he couldn't move. Tommy was straddling his chest with his knees push tight into Harpers sides.

"Tommy, get off me, what are you doing?" Harper asked with growing unease. Then Tommy smiled a most unnatural horrible smile. It froze his blood and made him cry out in terror. Tommy's usually kind blue eyes looked down lifelessly on him. "Tommy?" Harper sobbed.

"I never did like you," Tommy said coldly. He reached forwards and moved something that felt like metal over either side of Harper's head.

"Tommy? What?" Harper desperately tried to move his head, even just slightly so he could see what Tommy had put on him, but his head was fastened in place by whatever it was. "Mummy!" Harper screamed, but all that did was make Tommy laugh cruelly.

"Mummy?" Tommy shouted at the top of his lungs. He cupped a hand behind his ear listening, then shook his head frowning. "Nobody's home little brother."

"Tommy, please, I'm scared. What are you doing? What's on my head? Tommy, please let me go." Harper was sobbing uncontrollably now, but his brother's face was cast in stone unmoved by it all.

"Sorry Bro," Tommy said. "No can do. After all, this is your f-u-c-k-i-n-g nightmare, mate." With this Tommy leant forwards again and began to work a handle Harper could just about see out of the corner of his left eye. As he did so metal teeth pressed against both sides of his head. It was a vice he suddenly realized in horror. Tommy had his head in a vice and was slowly tightening it.

"Tommy!!" Harper screamed in terror as the vice slowly began to crush his ten year old skull. Searing pain shot through his head making him scream all the more, but Tommy just looked down on him with a horrifyingly passive look on his face as methodically wound the vice's handle. Harper felt, then heard a sicking cracking sound, the pain was so excruciating now he couldn't even scream anymore. Then everything went black, but the pain just kept on coming.

Lost in the darkness, Harper could feel fingers forcing their way into his mouth, but his teeth were clamped tightly shut against the pain of his imploding skull. A fierce stab of pain shot through his head and he screamed. That was all the prying fingers needed to force their way in and Harper felt something on his tongue, he gagged but the hands were now forcing his mouth shut, he swallowed tasting blood and chalk. The tinnitus was roaring through his ears, he was screaming again but couldn't hear anything but that awful noise.

After what seemed like hours Harper gradually became aware of his own rasping breath, the tinnitus slowly began to fade and with it the pain seemed to seep away. Harper could now make out the cottage room around him again as it emerged from the black. He looked down at his shaking hands, half expecting them to be those of a small boy, but they were his again, fully grown, covered in dried blood and grime and shaking violently.

"Christ," he uttered as everything came flooding back. He was in the room where Logan had brought him. He remembered poor Frank laid dead in the corridor, his terrible head wound, everything. Harper began to weep remembering his brother. "Tommy," he sobbed and buried his face in his hands.

The pain was all but gone when he finally raised his head, which was throbbing violently. A bullet in the head will do that for you, he thought bitterly. He looked around him, he was sitting in the corner of the room on a camp bed, the pillow was spotted with dark drops of what could only be blood that had seeped through his bandage as he had lain unconscious. Harper smacked his lips tasting the powerful painkiller Logan must have forced him to swallow after the pain had dragged him kicking and screaming from the nightmare of Tommy.

"That was quite a scene," Logan said. Harper squinted over to the doorway where Logan was now standing, he looked flustered and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face. "Thought you were going to bite my fingers off," he said. "Who's Tommy?"

"Think I'm gonna puke," Harper said ignoring the question. He hung his head between his knees and waited for the nausea to pass.

"Don't do that, the pill won't be much use to you if you spit it back up." The old man said.

When Harper sat back up straight again, Logan was studying him intently.

"Who's Tommy?" Logan asked again.

"None of your damn business," Harper told him. He wanted to flop back down on the camp bed again but feared any pressure on his head would make it explode it felt so fragile. Instead he fixed Logan with as steady a stare as he could muster. "Just how long are you going to keep this up?" He asked. "And what happens to me when you run out of those wonder pills of yours? Are you just going to let me sit here and suffer?"

He noticed an unopened bottle of water on a small table by the bed, he reached over and screwed off the top and took a long drink, the water was tepid and he couldn't taste anything but the pill and blood in his mouth, he made a face but forced himself to drink more making him gasp.

"Don't worry," Logan replied as he watched him drink.

"There's more than enough. How's your sight by the way? And I've noticed you're slurring your words again, which is to be expected I suppose."

Harper moved to put the bottle back on the table, but missed by a foot so the bottle clattered to the floor and rolled away. "Fuck," he spat in frustration, it felt like being falling down drunk. "Hey, what do you mean, you have more than enough? That I'll be dead before they run out?

"Now, now, don't be like that," Logan said defensively. He gestured to the chair by the large table in the centre of the sparse room where Harper had first come around, God only knew how long ago. "If you're up to it, come and take a seat over here. Now that you're back in the land of the living, there's something I'd like to show you."

The camp bed creaked ominously beneath Harper whenever he moved. Although he didn't have the energy and no doubt the co-ordination, the last thing he needed was for the thing to collapse right from under him. So with slow and deliberate movements, he pushed himself to his feet.

Once standing he had to hold out his arms like a tightrope walker to steady himself. The head wound had also robbed him of his balance, he swayed slightly and had to close his eyes and concentrate on just standing up straight until his equilibrium, such as it was, returned.

"You need a hand?" Logan offered.

"Fuck off." Harper shot back and opened his eyes once more. Much like before one side of the room was relatively normal, but the right side was all a mass of seething colours and shadows thanks to the ruined right side of his head. Harper focused on the chair by the table and began to slowly walk the ten steps towards it. He felt like a toddler taking his first steps and could feel Logan's gaze on him, he wouldn't have been surprised if the bastard started taking notes. Until finally Harper was able to grab the chair and half sat half fell into it. He rested his elbows on the table and found he was gasping at the effort of walking ten simple steps.

"Well done," Logan said.

"Fuck off," Harper said again, too tired to come up with anything else at this stage. He smacked his lips and winced the combination of painkiller and blood didn't make for a good taste. "Hey, let me have that water," he gestured to the bottle on the floor.

"What did you're last slave die of?" Logan asked with a chuckle as he walked over and picked up the bottle.

"He got shot in the head," Harper replied, much to the doctor's amusement.

"Here you go," Logan put the water on the table in front of him. "I'll be back in a sec'," he turned to leave.

"Save it," Harper said. "Just fuck off and leave me alone. I may not be able to get out of here, but that doesn't mean I have to be subjected to your bullshit."

Logan paused for a moment. "That's not strictly true," he said with a wry smile. "After all you are a captive audience, so to speak. But please, humour me." With this he left the room.

It took Harper two attempts to take a hold of the bottle thanks to his fucked up depth perception and he was just glad Logan wasn't in the room to see it. He drank greedily until the bottle was empty, then tossed the bottle away. He wished it had been glass then he could have busted the thing over Logan's smug head when he returned.

"Besides," Logan called through from another room. "We have to keep you stimulated. It's not a good idea to have you drifting off to sleep again, not with that head of yours. You might wake up dead, and then where would you be?"

"Jesus," Harper could hear Logan laugh at his own joke. Now that he was alone, Harper took in his surroundings, in the hope of finding a way out or at least to call for help.

Wherever he was it looked like an old cottage, the windows all had wooden shutters on which were all closed tight, the room had only one way in or out and was sparsely furnished with the table, two chairs and the camp bed in the corner. Harper looked at the bare wooden boards on the floor and could just about make out drag marks where Logan had presumably removed any other furniture from the room, Christ only knew why. The walls were whitewashed stone and there were thick varnished oak beams on the ceiling.

"It's not much, but its home." Logan same back in the room carrying a fresh bottle of water in one hand and a small metal flight case, which Harper instantly recognised from the corridor back at the labs. Logan put the water in front of Harper and sat down opposite him. "Thought you might still be thirsty." He said and placed the metal case on the table in front of him.

"What's that?" Harper asked gesturing towards the box. "More drugs?" He managed to grab the bottle of water at the first attempt this time, it was a small victory, but when he opened it and took a long swig it somehow tasted all the sweeter. This time the water was so cold it made him gasp.

"Drugs? God no," Logan replied. "This, my dear Harper is what all this is about. Why old whatshisname died, why you got shot in the head and found yourself here." Logan rolled his shirt sleeves up and very carefully opened a catch on one side of the box. He opened the small lid and glanced up at Harper as if expecting him to be leaning forwards expectantly. He looked almost disappointed when Harper just looked at him blankly. The old man frowned slightly, but his face brightened as he reached into the case and brought out a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid. He pushed the case to one side and held up the vial for Harper to see.

"What's that?" Harper asked. "Looks like a vaccine or something?"

Logan gave a short laugh. "Hardly. It's the exact opposite actually," he said. "And it's a little more than just 'something.'" He cleared his throat and Harper suddenly got the impression that Logan had been waiting for this moment ever since he had brought him here. "This, my dear Harper is the most deadly virus known to man. And believe me, that's no idle boast. I've tested most of them in my time."

Harper suddenly went cold; it was as if the banal looking liquid in the vial just took on a whole new more sinister appearance once it had been named. "V-Virus?" He stuttered lamely. Logan's face lit up seeing Harper's reaction. "What kind of virus?"

Logan tilted the vial so the liquid lapped around inside. "This innocent looking ten milligrams of liquid death has been lovingly engineered from scratch. And believe me Harper, if it comes into contact with even the merest drop of your common or garden good old fashioned H20. It will wipe out, we estimate, approximately ninety eight per cent of every living thing on the planet." He leaned in ever so slightly and Harper found himself involuntarily leaning back. "This is man- made death in perfection," Logan continued conspiratorially. "And if I might wax lyrical for a moment? Mother nature in all her infinite cruelty can only look on its terrible beauty and weep."

His words hung in the air like a winter's chill. "This, this is from the lab?" Harper asked.

"That's right."

"And you stole it!?" Harper asked incredulously. "Are you out of your mind?" He knew the answer just by looking into the doctor's eyes.

"Far from it," Logan protested, he actually looked surprised at the question which only scared Harper all the more. "Come on, Harper. What did you think we did up there all day? Squirt shampoo into puppies eyes so that the ladies can all have nice shiny hair?"

"No. I mean, I don't know..." Harper replied. It was something none of them ever talked about up at Ventrex. He had heard rumours, most of them outlandish and on occasion they had a security alert when some motley group of protesters would gather at the gates. Harper had secretly wondered if there might be vivisection involved, but like everyone else didn't like to dwell on it. The pay was good, probably better than it should have been when you came right down and thought about it. But this? "No, I don't believe it," he said more out of hope than expectation. "I admit I don't know exactly what you do up there-"

"And didn't ask, I'll bet," Logan interrupted with a knowing raise of the eyebrows.

"True," Harper's gut was churning and he knew his face must be flushed even though he couldn't feel it. "If you were making dangerous shit up there, you would have had prober security, armed soldiers or something, right?" Yes, that sounded plausible. There were only eight full time security guards at Ventrex, not of them were armed or particularly experienced. If the government were making global killing virus' they would need an army to guard it, surely.

"Too high profile, Harper," Logan said. "Think about it! Regardless of the legality of what we are doing. It's covert research and there's nothing covert about a garrison of soldiers guarding what is supposed to be a harmless research lab, now is there?" His face grew dark. "I tell you, you would have a panic attack if you knew how openly we transport some of our work. A man in a van sometimes. It's all to keep prying eyes away from what we are doing."

"Jesus," Harper had signed out countless couriers over the years, not knowing or caring what they had in the back of the van.

"Clever really," Logan said after a moment. "Terrifying at first, takes a bit of getting used to I can tell you. But clever never the less." He nodded grimly to himself, then remembered something. "Oh the drivers were always plain clothes army or some such. Those fellows were armed for sure." As if that made any difference.

"That's beyond terrifying," Harper said weakly.

The old man nodded ruefully in agreement, and then focused his attention back to the vial. He turned it over in his hand and regarded it. There was something about the look in Logan's eye that Harper found deeply disturbing. If he had to describe it, it was love. When Logan spoke his voice swelled with pride. "Ten years we worked on this. Ten years of heartache and failure. God, I've lost count of the number of times we had to scrap everything and start from scratch again. Until finally we cracked it, and get this, it was by accident!" His eyes flared as he remembered.

"We could have gone on forever, chasing our tails, always one step away from success, or just as close to more abject failure. All it took was a simple error when I was writing up my notes. I was writing down the formula we had just tried, and failed. Too much coffee and too little sleep, I guess. I transposed two of the figures and there it was, staring me right in the face." Logan finally tore his eyes away from the vial to Harper. "Fate had been looking over my shoulder that day, guiding my hand. I was going to call it a day, write everything up in the morning when I was fresh, but for some reason I didn't."

Logan gestured with the vial towards Harper making him flinch, the doctor was a little too comfortable handing a global killer for Harper's liking.

"Just like when I went back for you at the lab," Logan continued. "It's been praying on my mind, but I guess some questions are best left unanswered, I suppose." He shook his head dismissively. "Anyway, so there I was, after everyone had gone home, half asleep, writing up my notes. Perhaps it was some kind of divine intervention, if you believe in that sought if thing. But whatever it was, Harper, it was something strong, almost physical." He shook his head again and frowned. "I don't know, maybe God had grown tired of waiting for us to finally come up with the instrument of our own destruction. He gave us brains, didn't he?" He tapped the vial against his temple. "Gave us the means to bring about our own ends? Maybe all we needed was a little nudge in the right direction."

It all began to make a lunatic kind of sense to Harper as he listened. At first he that just thought the old man had lost all reason, killing poor Frank, kidnapping him, now this virus he was so casually handling. But there was something else to all this madness.

"So, let me get this straight," Harper said, trying to think clearly. "First you created this thing. Then you fucking steal it?"

"That's right."

"So what's next? Are you gonna sell it? What's the problem, they don't pay you enough at the lab?"

"There it is again," Logan said. "That fighting spirit. And no, Harper, I'm not going to sell it. I'm going to give it away." He said it so matter of fact, as if it were the most normal thing in the world and Harper was a fool to even ask.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harper asked wearily. "You went through all this and you're just going to give it away? To who for Christ sake?"

"To someone who wants to do some good with it," the old man replied. He narrowed his eyes at the way Harper was looking at the vial, suddenly suspicious. Logan reached into the back of his trousers and pulled out the pistol he had used to shoot Harper and Frank back at the lab. Harper tensed seeing the weapon and sat back a little. Logan seemed satisfied with this and put the pistol on the table next to him.

"It's funny, you don't look like the humanitarian type to me," Harper gestured to the pistol, and briefly thought of making a lunge across the table for it, but thought better of it remembering the trouble he had with the simple task of picking up the bottle of water.

"I'm sure I won't need it," Logan said and lightly tapped the pistol. "But you are full of surprises." Logan then put the vial back in the case and snapped the latch shut, much to Harper's relief. "Anyway, how's the right side of your head?" He asked.

"Missing."

This made the old man laugh out loud.

"So, you're just going to give that thing away?" Harper asked.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Logan replied, then he gave a shrug. "Well, I suppose from your perspective it is." Logan leant forwards, his forehead creasing as he frowned. "But even after everything that's happened. Can't some good come out of all this?" He paused thinking, then. "Look, the sad truth is, I was so wrapped up in creating this thing, that somewhere along the way I lost sight of what we were actually doing. We all did."

The forlorn look on Logan's face threw Harper somewhat. Despite everything he actually sounded genuine, even a little lost. Perhaps circumstances had in fact spiralled out of his control and he just wanted to undo some of the hurt he had caused. Of course that did still beg one question; "So, where does kidnapping me fit into this little tale of redemption?"

Logan's shoulders sagged and he shook his head slightly. "That remains to be seen," he said after a moment's thought. "The whole thing should have gone off so smoothly, like I said before, you and I should never even have met, but for fate's folly bringing us together." Logan looked off into space, he gave a heartfelt sigh. "I was supposed to swap the real virus for a dummy vial. Then give the real one to these... Well they're just kids really. They call themselves Eco-terrorists, but they're harmless enough. Their leader, a chap named Freddie, he had some idea about what was really going on at the lab. He was the one who finally convinced me to blow the whistle on it all. They are going to go to the press, but they needed cast iron proof." He smiled humourlessly to himself. "Guess they have got it now."

"And they know what happened at the lab?" Harper asked and glanced furtively at the gun whilst Logan was distracted. He slowly reached for the half empty water bottle on the table as a test of his depth perception, and missed first time. He bit his lip in frustration, harder than he thought because he could taste fresh blood, but thanks to the pain-killer felt nothing. He almost spilt the water down his front as he took a sip, as his hand was shaking so hard.

"God no," Logan said and finally drew his attention back to Harper, he watched with a look of concern as Harper took his faltering drink. "I told Freddie it all went like clockwork," he confessed. "And why wouldn't he believe me? He takes everything I say as gospel, as long as it fits in with his little moral crusade. But you should have heard him when I told him that I'd actually taken the virus. I wish I had been able to tell him in person, I'm sure his face was a picture." He smiled at this and Harper caught a glint of mischief in the doctor's eye. "Freddie wants his little revolution? I say let him have it, if he keeps his nerve."

"You are just going to hand that thing over to a bunch of terrorists?"

"Oh, they are hardly that, Harper. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? Jesus! How do you know they won't just let it out?" Harper could hear the fear in his own voice. The old guy couldn't be that crazy. Could he?

"Because they are the good guys, Harper. They want to topple the Government, not kill anyone." Logan patted the box. "They'll have their moment in the sun, then they'll give it back. So it can be destroyed."

"And you're okay with that? After all your work?"

Logan looked solemnly at the box. "Like I said, I'd lost sight of what we had made."

"So what do I do while all this is going on?" Harper wanted to know. "Sit here and bleed?"

At this Logan squinted at Harper's head. "Speaking of which, let's have a look at that head of yours." He leaned forwards across the table, but Harper batted his hand away.

"Don't you fucking touch me," he shouted and without thinking he made a move for the pistol with his other hand, but he must have been woefully slow because Logan had the gun in his hand before he got anywhere near it.

"Suit yourself," Logan said casually and got to his feet tucking the pistol into his waistband as he did so. "Look Harper, don't exert yourself, and don't try anything foolish like trying to escape," he warned and tapped the right side of his head for emphasis.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Harper said sarcastically.

"Good man," Logan replied and scooped up the box, he was half way to the door when he stopped and turned back to Harper. "And don't forget to shout up if the pain comes back." He smiled and was gone. Harper heard the door lock behind him.

"Shit," he hissed and looked around the room once more. That was the only way in or out.

REVOLUTION BY COMMITTEE

When they told him, the usually unflappable Paul Anderson had gone paler than Libby thought a living human could possibly go. And after that the excuses had started straight away. Libby had known they would, just like with Freddie, Paul had always talked a good revolution, but now that he was firmly ensconced in the world of low level politics, and actually had the beginnings of a reputation to uphold, he was less and less inclined to stick his neck out. Especially as far as this would require.

If doctor Logan was true to his word then what they were planning would turn the political world on its head. And if only Paul could see that far ahead, he would be well placed to usher in a new era. If only he had the courage to align himself with what they were going to do. But in her excitement Libby had forgotten the one overwhelming rule when it came to politics, large scale or small. The Status Quo ruled. You could rock the boat a little to get yourself noticed if you wanted to shoulder your way into the trough all politicians fed at. Just not enough to capsize it.

It was all about rhetoric, not revolution. She had seen Paul become grey and greyer with each passing month since he had decided to run for the council. He had boasted he could be an MP within three or four years, then he could really make a difference. Only now Libby knew the only real difference he was interesting in was to the size of his bank balance (that and his ego, which unlike his bank balance had never been small.)

Here they were handing him all the political platform he would ever need, sending his public profile into the stratosphere. And all he had given them in response was a plethora of if's and buts.

Libby hoisted herself up and sat on the disused bar and took a look around the large, long disused private function room of the Black Bull pub that had served as Paul's office for years now and thought about how often they had met here over the years, a small but determined band huddled in the room, bitter and angry as only the young can be and debated and plotted their own never quite realized mini rebellions.

She felt a pang of regret at those lost years.

The walls were still covered in old faded protest posters and banners from demonstrations and marches half of which she could hardly remember now. Next to dozens of newspaper clippings they had so proudly collected that chronicled their various exploits of minor eco-terrorism and sometimes downright vandalism, all in a good cause, of course. There was the original anti council tax leaflets pinned to a crowded notice board.

She spotted an anti- British National Party banner declaring that Nazi skinheads should fuck off back to nineteen thirties Berlin where they belonged. Libby absently touched her lower lip, which still had a faint scar from where one of the BNP bully boys had given her a back hander during a scuffle. She smiled at the memory as she remembered the look on his face when she had kneed him hard in the bollocks for it.

Simpler times, ones she had clung to for so long. And times she could see Freddie and Paul still trying desperately to cling to now. Simpler, safer, and ultimately pointless.

Paul was pacing the floor tugging at his salt and pepper hair and coming up with excuse after excuse, while Freddie sat on the edge of a cluttered desk looking just as agitated and nodding in agreement most of the time.

Libby had spent the best part of the night convincing him they had to go through with his, only to have Paul, who she had stupidly hope would be an ally, sow the seeds of doubt back into Freddie's fear addled brain. Ironically, it was Dennis who looked the coolest out of the four of them. He was sitting in Paul's large leather swivel chair spinning from side to side watching the debate with something like quite contempt on his young face.

"Come on, for fucks sake," Dennis said unable to hold his tongue any longer. "What is there even to discuss?"

"Everything!" Paul said contemptuously. "There are a million and one things that can go wrong here. Not the least of which is the fact that this Logan character could be full of shit."

He may as well have told Dennis to shut up and let the grownups talk it appeared to Libby.

"Freddie thinks he's on the level," Dennis said.

This made Freddie flinch. "I'm pretty sure he is," he said without conviction. Libby felt a knot of contempt twist in her stomach, but kept her silence. Let them debate themselves out if they wanted. As she had sat listening to all this for what seemed like hours now, she had come to the conclusion that if push came to shove, she would go on her own to meet Logan and find out first hand if he was on the level. And the more she heard from Paul and Freddie, the more she warmed to the idea.

She exhaled, dead tired of it all and took a look at her watch, she started in shock, it was nearly one thirty in the morning, no wonder they all looked so fatigued. The best thing for everyone would be to go home, sleep on it and meet up again later. But she knew that would be fatal, and all the thinking time both Paul and Freddie would need to back right out. Besides, Paul had his precious rally tonight and he seemed more intent than ever to make sure it meant absolutely nothing.

"Christ!" Dennis exclaimed making everyone jump. "Paul, you are getting this handed to you on a platter, proof positive!"

"This rally is massively important," Paul said and pointed a warning finger at Dennis.

_Huh, to you_ , Libby thought.

"I've worked for too hard for too long on putting this together, and I won't have anything fucking that up," Paul told him. "Think about this from my point of view. I'm gonna look pretty stupid if I let Freddie have a slot and he turns up with nothing but fresh air, aren't I?"

"Look at Freddie, and tell me if you think he thinks this doc' is on the level?" Dennis asked and for the first time in a long, long while Libby found herself proud of her little brother. "Look at him, he's fucking terrified!"

It was true, Freddie still looked deathly afraid and was clearly regretting the wine he had gulped down earlier. He gave off the air of a condemned man with a killer hangover awaiting the call to the gallows.

Freddie perked up a little at what Dennis said. "You know I'm right here?" He said, but his voice was so weak with fatigue, he couldn't muster much outrage.

"Well you are!" Dennis said.

"And can you blame me?" Freddie replied with a bit more bite in his voice. He waited for Dennis to reply but got nothing more than a shrug from him.

Paul put a brotherly hand on Freddie's shoulder. "And it's understandable, Fred," he said with a tone of practised concern.

"I need a drink," Dennis said getting to his feet. "Anyone else?" Freddie gave him a queasy look and shook his head no.

"No thanks," Paul said. "But remember, you pay for whatever you take," he reminded Dennis as he set off to go through into the deserted bar next door. "The pumps won't be on, so you'll have to stick to something bottled, they keep the fridges on so they'll still be nice and cool. Just leave the money on the bar, and any empties, Bill will pick it up in the morning when he gets in."

"Of course," Dennis said, he stopped next to where Libby was sitting. "You want anything Sis?"

"Orange juice would be nice," she said and dug into her jacket pocket for her purse.

"Any Vodka in that?" He asked with a glint in his eye.

"God no," she said and took out a fiver. "My treat," she told him.

"Thanks Sis!" And with this he disappeared through the door.

"Fred?" She said and he turned to give her a mournful look. "Why don't you get something, a red bull or something like that? You look like you need a pick me up."

"Good idea," he agreed. "Don't suppose anyone's got any speed?" He gave Libby and Paul a hopeful look but got nothing but head shakes and raised eyebrows. He nodded ruefully to himself and followed Dennis out into the other bar.

"We'll be through in a minute," she shouted through.

"Can he be trusted?" Paul asked Libby after they had gone. The question hung heavy in the room.

"Freddie or Logan?" She replied.

Paul went over to one of the large notice boards by his desk and ran his eyes over the past glories pinned there. Libby noticed that Dennis had pinned up the front page of the paper he had shown her earlier with its ' _Terror on the fairways_ ' headline. "Both," Paul said after a long pause without turning around.

"I didn't think you would need this amount of convincing," Libby said. She didn't even try to hide the disappointment in her voice. She thought she saw his shoulders sag ever so slightly, it was quite the revelation. _He still cares what I think of him._ And with that thought Libby felt a surge of something that quickened her pulse, it felt like power.

"We know Logan works at Ventrex," she continued after a moment. "That's a matter of public record. And that he's high up on the food chain there."

"And Freddie?" He spoke to the wall.

"Freddie trusts Logan," she stated. "And I trust Freddie."

He turned to face her at this. "Really?" The condescension was thick in his voice.

She held his gaze, her eyes steel, despite his bullshit bravado she knew she was in control here, and it was a feeling she liked. _You care about what I think of you, you never did get over me, did you? But believe me I don't care who you're with, how well you think you are doing in the world. You could be Prime Minister for all I care and it wouldn't mean a thing._

Libby was amazed at her own self-control that she didn't actually shout that thought right in his face. Maybe she would make a good politician herself after all. Paul's eyes flickered to the floor for a moment as if he just read her mind.

It was weird, she wasn't used to being this manipulative and despite herself she felt sorry for Paul, but she quickly realised that was an emotion she could ill afford. She had to keep her eye on the prize as they say. She needed Paul, and she realized as she watched him turn back to the notice board, that he needed her to need him, that was something he was used to in his perfect new life as an up and coming politician. She couldn't emasculate him too much, no matter how much she really, really wanted to.

"Look, Paul," she said in a softer tone. "I'm going to go with Freddie to meet Logan later." She hopped down off the bar and moved over to where he was standing with his back to her. "Paul?" She coaxed and he turned to face her. "Just keep a slot open," she said. "That's all I ask. And if this all turned out to be bullshit, no harm done. I'll let you know straight away. It's not like you'll have to announce anything before hand, is it?"

He moved forwards a step and for a moment Libby thought he was going to embrace her, thankfully he pulled up short. "And if it is all bullshit?" He asked hopefully.

Tell him what he wants to hear.

"If it is all bullshit," she gave him the best smile she could muster. "I can promise you, Freddie will be history." His eyes flared ever so slightly at this. "But," she cautioned. "If this is on the level and we actually get the virus. You have to support us, all the way."

"I will," Paul assured her.

"Thank you," she touched him lightly on the arm and he tensed like he had just had a jolt of electricity. "You'll be part of history," she told him. "We all will." Out of nowhere, she stepped forwards and gave him a hug.

"This is big stuff, Lib," Paul whispered in her ear.

"I know it," she held him at arm's length again, it was strange but she was glad she had hugged him all the same, it felt like the first natural thing she had done so far. It made her feel like she wasn't just some manipulative queen bitch after all. _I need to hold on to that thought_ , she told herself. _It felt like me, Libby Wright_. But she also knew if things panned out the way she really wanted them to and with all this weakness around her. Being just plain old good natured Libby Wright would not be good enough. That she would need that steel edged queen bitch to drag the others on to History. So she tucked her away at the back of her mind where she could wait, just out of sight, ready to take charge if needs be.

"Lib, you okay? You kind of drifted off there for a second."

Libby pulled away embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, just tired I guess," she lied. She slapped the sides of her legs with the palms of her hands and it stung her back into reality. "We need a plan," she told him. "If we get the thing, I'm going to need you more than ever. Freddie's so, spaced out. And Dennis is..."

Paul laughed. "And Dennis is, Crazy Earl."

"Exactly."

He gestured to the notice board over his shoulder. "Did he really do that?"

She nodded. "Scared the shit out of me, when he told me." She admitted.

"Ha, I can imagine." He grew thoughtful. "You know time was we would have called him a hero for that."

It was true, she would never admit as much to Dennis, but there was no getting away from the fact he had done more than any of them ever had of late.

"But you must promise me one thing," Paul said gravely.

"Sure."

He allowed himself a smile. "When, and if you get this virus? Don't let Crazy Earl anywhere near the weapon of mass destruction."

"Shit, can you imagine?" They laughed together and the levity felt good.

"Shall we join them for a drink?" He asked and motioned through the door leading to the bar beyond.

"Sounds good."

When they got through to the main bar, Freddie and Dennis were sat at a table in near darkness. "You know, you can put the lights on," Paul told them. He ducked behind the bar and flicked on several switches and the lights came on around them. "Let there be light."

Dennis got to his feet still holding his bottle of beer. "Well?" He asked. Freddie just studied his crumpled can of Red Bull, he always crushed the can when he was nervous.

"Well," Paul echoed and took centre stage, just like Libby had hoped he would. "I'm in," he announced much to Dennis' delight. Freddie gave a nod and weak smile and crushed his can just a little more. Libby went over and sat next to him; she put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "But we can only plan this thing so far," Paul continued. "Now I won't lie to you, I'm worried about this Logan character, he's the wild card here. I mean what do we really know about him?"

"He's on the level," Freddie put in.

"Okay, I believe you, Fred," Paul said holding up his hands defensively. "But we still need to know what his angle is. What has he got to gain from this? When you think about it, he's the only one with anything to lose."

"He's right," Libby had to agree. "You said it yourself, Freddie, he's spent years developing this thing. This is his life's work, and he's just going to let us destroy it?" Libby hated to sow any seeds of doubt in Freddie's mind; Paul was more than capable of doing that. But she needed to believe in Logan as much as Freddie did.

"You'll understand, once you meet him," Freddie said firmly.

"Okay," Libby gave his arm a squeeze. "That's all I wanted to hear."

"I hate to be the voice of reason here," Dennis said and shook his bottle so the beer frothed inside.

"Now I know we're in trouble," Libby said and even Freddie laughed.

"But," Dennis continued regardless. "And thanks for the vote of confidence Sis'. Let's say he's on the level and we actually get out hands on the virus. Now I'm all for a bit of anarchy. But do you really want to be walking around with a weapon of mass destruction. I mean, what's it in? How big is it? And to quote Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man; _Is it safe?_ " He hissed the last three words in a bad German accent.

Freddie spun the empty can of Red Bull on the table in front of him a couple of times before answering. "All I know is that it's a liquid. Can't imagine it will be that big."

"I'm sure Logan has thought about that," Libby said trying to sound reassuring. "It will be in something safe." She put her hand on Freddie's to stop him spinning the can, it was grating on her already frayed nerves. He gave her a look and she smiled apologetically.

"I'm sure he has," Paul said. "Besides, you won't have to keep hold of it for long. Once all this goes public, all he will have to do is very publically hand it back to the bastards."

"Hand it back?" Dennis said incredulously.

"Den, calm down," Libby told him and gave him a look like he was twelve.

"That's right," said Paul fervently. "Once the world knows about what they are really doing up there at Ventrex. We make damn sure they destroy the fucking thing. Live on national TV. And all the other crap they might have up there."

Freddie frowned. "You really think they'll just do that?"

"They won't have any choice," Libby told him. "The public will demand it, and the press will tear them to shreds."

"Heads will roll," Dennis said, warming to the idea.

Freddie made a face clearly not so sure. "That's all very well, but what if they call our bluff. They know there's no way we will set the thing off."

"Oh, I dunno," Dennis said with a manic grin. "I don't mind playing the mad eco-terrorist, if needs be."

"Christ no," Libby said. "That will just get somebody killed. We have to make it clear from the get go that we don't want to hurt anyone." She paused looking at each of the others in turn, lingering on Dennis for emphasis. "We are trying to save lives here, not end any."

"That's the one big problem as far as I see it," Freddie said. He got to his feet and went around to the bar. "What if they claim it's just a hoax?" He opened up a cooler and took out another can of red bull.

"Don't you see?" Paul said with relish. "That's exactly what they will do. They'll deny all knowledge, they don't know us from shit, and if Logan took this thing without anyone knowing. They'll figure it's just a publicity stunt for the rally." He clapped his hands together for effect. "Blam! That's when we hit them with Logan. He must have everything written down, right?" He leaned on the bar towards Freddie, who took a long swig of energy drink. "All the formulas and shit?"

Freddie gave a shrug. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well there you go," Paul drummed on the bar and then spun away theatrically, he was really warming to the whole idea now and was revelling in being centre stage, even to such a small audience of three. "Show the thing at the rally, there will be plenty of press there, TV too. Give them the whole speech about what they are doing up at Ventrex." He moved out into the middle of the bar room, in full flow now. "And then after, you guys lay low, I'll field all the questions and what not. I'll let them hang themselves out to dry as they deny everything. Then, and only then, we publicly wheel out Logan and threaten to publish the whole thing on the internet. They can't deny Logan works for them."

"He's on their God damn website, for Christ sake!" Freddie interjected.

"Exactly," Paul threw him the thumbs up, and Libby had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing. But she could see Dennis and more importantly Freddie were buying this. And God help her if she wasn't careful, so was she. After all it just might work. Leave it to Paul to marshal the troops and grease the publicity machine. Now she truly knew why he was so integral to the success of this dangerous game they were playing.

"And let's face it," Paul continued working up a real sweat now. "They aren't going to want a 'how to make your very own WMD' on the internet. Especially a government funded one, paid for by tax payers hard earned, are they?"

Libby watched him work, he was loving every minute of it, you could almost hear the gears working in his brain. And best for him, he would get all the publicity but without any of the risk. It would be down to Libby and Fred to get the virus, as she'd said already, if it was bullshit, Paul would come out unscathed, with that 'I told you so' look on his face. But if, just _if_ they actually got the virus, he could claim all the kudos by being the one who organised the rally, and she had no doubt he would claim to have been the instigator of the whole thing from the start.

But only when he was sure, no one was going to get hung for treason or God only knew what else all this actually was. And that was fine by her, she just wanted this to get out into the public domain, she wanted Ventrex to burn. And all the corrupt politicians and scientists to go down with it. Paul wanted to be a hero? Then let him.

"I like it!" Dennis proclaimed after Paul had finished. And even Freddie was looking more enthusiastic.

It was a good plan, and better than any of them could have come up with, but it still relied in one person only Freddie had actually met. "Sounds good, but it all comes back to Logan," Libby said.

"He's the real deal," Freddie said firmly and paused before he continued and looked to Libby like he was at last ready to fight his corner if needed. "Sure, he's a little on the eccentric side," he conceded. "But I think he's finally realized what he's done, what he has actually created. He came looking for me; saw what I wrote about Ventrex on my blog. He said it made him reconsider everything." He flushed with pride at this, "He told me straight, said it all started out as just pure research. Some multi-million pound puzzle for him to crack. But I think I help convince him that if he did just hand it over to the military and they did actually use the thing. Then it would be his fault."

Paul nodded gravely at this and took his time in replying. "Okay, so where's the meet?"

"Dunno," Freddie said. He came back around from behind the bar, his can of Red Bull still unopened. He finally opened it but then seemed to change his mind. He put the can on the bar and turned to Paul. "He asked me to call him he said he knew this was a big step, so he gave me a few hours to think things through."

"And have you?" Paul asked sternly. "I've got to say you looked less than convinced when you came in."

"He'll be fine," Libby said, she got to her feet and moved over to stand next to Freddie in a gesture of taking sides. She looked for any sign of reticence in Paul's face and was glad she found none, she was about to speak when to her surprise Freddie took a step away from her.

"I can speak for myself Lib," he told her his voice hard, but his skittish gaze made a lie of his bravado. He coughed a little trying to clear his throat.

Paul moved close to him, his face hard as stone. "You're the key to all this, Fred," he told him plainly. "You're the only one of us this guy knows, trusts-"

"I know it," Freddie cut in harshly, but pulled himself up before he said anymore. He gestured for Paul to continue.

"All I'm saying is that he must have seen something in you. But you have to believe in yourself, we can only help you so far, in the end it's down to you, mate."

"You're right," he replied and took a hold of Libby's hand, she squeezed it and moved back to his side.

"So," Paul asked. "Did he pick the right guy?"

"I'll call him first thing in the morning," he said without hesitation.

"Yeah, nice one," Dennis punched the air, then fair skipped over to Paul who gave him a high five.

Libby let out a long slow breath of relief and pulled Freddie to her, she hugged him close and whispered in his ear. "We can do this, together." He squeezed her back so hard she thought she heard her ribs crack.

"Hey, you two," Paul called to Libby and Freddie. "Come over here," he had an arm around Dennis and beckoned them closer with the other. Libby lead Freddie by the hand over to them and all four of them put their arms around each other to form a circle. "You're not alone in this, Freddie," Paul told him and Freddie gave him a weak but resolute smile.

Then they broke like a football team, Dennis slapped Freddie a little over enthusiastically hard on the arm and ruffled Libby's hair the way she always hated. She looked at him bouncing around like a kid on a sugar rush. And Logan's the only wild card? She thought.

"Right, right, let's focus," Paul told them. "So you call him, arrange everything. I'll sort out some pre-paid mobiles, just in case. You can call me when you have the virus. I'll keep the last slot open for you start spreading some vagaries about what we have planned."

That was good Libby noticed he said _when_ and not _if_ you get the virus. She glanced back at Dennis who was grinning manically now and she had a vision of the cars in March Dale Golf course going up in flames. "Just me and Freddie," she said.

"Huh?" Dennis stopped dead and gave her a quizzical look. She held it and saw the disappointment slowly fill his big doe eyes. "What the?" His voice was weak and she thought she saw tears now.

"It's not open to debate, Dennis," she could see him crumpling before her and it pained her to see him so crushed a moment after being so elated, but she had to be strong. He was too reckless at the best of times, and if he hadn't been at hers when Freddie came back, he wouldn't have been a part of this at all. She owed Mum and Dad that, if things went wrong... God if things went right they could all end up in prison for this. She regretted having him along this far, but that couldn't be helped now. "You're a liability," she could tell that hurt the most, but forced herself not to look away.

"Lib?" He said weakly and it almost broke her heart.

Ever the Politian, Paul moved fast and broke the look between them by stepping in front of Dennis, he put two firm hands on his shoulders. "She's right, Craze," he said gently. "Don't worry, nobody is cutting you out of this, but it's best if just Freddie and Lib go, for now. Once all this really kicks in, you'll be a big part of things, I promise. Okay?"

He nodded forlornly and when Paul moved away he gave a grunt of acceptance. Freddie came over to him and slapped his arm. "It's for the best, Earl, Logan doesn't know you, I've told him all about Libby, and he really wants her to be there. Okay, Crazy Earl?"

Dennis brightened somewhat at this, both Paul and Freddie had used his stupid nick-name to placate him. That only cemented Libby determination to keep him as far away from trouble as possible. He like to think he was the big revolutionary, but he was still her baby brother, and one, she reminded herself, who might still have access to explosives. She shivered at the thought but at least he was on board for now, even if she knew he probably wouldn't speak to her for the rest of the day, so it was a win-win really.

"I'll give you a call, once we have it, Den," Libby told him. "Meanwhile, wait for us at Mum and Dad's. And get your bike out of my garage." Dennis couldn't help himself and he smiled at this, still he gave her the best sullen look he could muster, but she could see from his eyes he didn't mean it.

"Mum's gonna kill you, when she finds out," he said and the smile turned wicked.

Her heart suddenly sunk. He was right this was going to affect everyone, Dennis, even Mum and Dad. What would they think? Would they be proud or would history paint them as terrorists? She dismissed the doubt from her mind, now wasn't the time for that. They would have to be part of history first before it could judge them good or bad.

***

Once they were outside again in the cold night air, it suddenly seemed all the more real to Libby. She stood by the entrance to the pub and watched Freddie and Dennis talking animatedly by the car in the flood lit car park out front.

The plan was to get a few hours shut eye now that things had been decided, then Freddie was going to call Logan and set up the meeting. It was all very clandestine, Logan had refused to tell Freddie exactly where he was, he promised to reveal all if Freddie decided to go through with things after the old man had given him time to think things over.

Perhaps Logan had sensed Freddie's reticence then they had spoken earlier. And to be fair she couldn't imagine Freddie had hidden his surprise when the doc' had told him and if he had expected Freddie to be overly enthusiastic at the plan, he would have been sorely disappointed. That got her to thinking of the possibility that Logan might have lost heart, after all it must have been many hours since he contacted Freddie with the prospective life changing news. She just had to hope he kept faith with him long enough not to re-think things himself.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as Paul came up beside her. He rubbed his hands against the cold.

"Freezing," he said, the word misting in front of his face and she nodded, it made it harder to tell if she was trembling due to the weather of the impending day they had ahead of them. This time tomorrow her whole world could have changed forever. Or loathed as she still was to admit it, it could just be exactly the same. The same but without Freddie in it, she reflected mournfully. For a long while both of them watched Freddie and Dennis over by the car. Freddie had his shoulders hunched against the cold and he kept glancing at his phone every few seconds, but each time putting it away with a frown.

Dennis was jumping around excitedly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and started pogoing around, either to keep warm or burn off some of that excess of energy he had acquired. And again Libby was glad he wasn't coming along to meet Logan, sometimes she had to remember that he was only twenty, especially when her was doing dumb arsed stunts like the golf club, other times, like now he seemed even younger, not for the first time tonight she lamented him being involved at all, but it was far too late for that now.

"Whatever happens," Paul said to her. "I just wanted to say, thanks. Tonight kind of reminded me what it's all about. I guess I've been so tied up with running for the council, setting up the rally, that I sort of lost track of why I was actually doing it."

She turned to him surprised and he gave her an embarrassed shrug.

"I guess we all did," she admitted.

"Anyway," he said dismissively a moment later. "Enough of that. Just make sure you stay safe. I'll have everything really at the rally, just get your arses over there in time for the grand finale. Because it won't be so grand if it's me and Dennis doing a duet."

She laughed. "Will do,"

"God I hope this is kosher," he said and for once his tone was more hopeful than weary.

"It will be," she said trying to sound sure of herself. "But I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Yes we will,"

Dennis spotted them and waved Libby over. "Come on Sis! We're freezing our bollocks off out here."

She shook her head in disbelief and felt a mixture of amusement, annoyance and more than a little fear.

Paul must have seen it on her face. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"It's a worry," she said, it should have been funny really but the joke went sour. "Freddie's got the fucking car keys. He could have let them both in..." Her voice trailed off and she felt a little sick.

"But he always has to wait for you to lead the way." Paul stated flatly, understanding immediately.

She nodded grimly and just hoped to God she had the strength.

HARPER GOES WALKABOUT

Peter Harper concentrated hard and listened. Listened past the roar of the blood in his ears, past the rapid tattoo his heart was hammering out in his chest. And could hear nothing else. He closed his eyes to shut out the sickening kaleidoscope of swirling colours from his now near useless damaged right eye that obliterated half his vision.

He had awoken a good ten minutes or so ago from a thankfully dreamless sleep, to find the room lighter somewhat than when he had drifted off God only know how long ago. He could see faint stripes of light creeping through the gaps in the wooden stutters that covered the windows. That meant it was day outside in the real world and that meant people would be out and about. People who he could go to for help, if he could somehow get out of this stale room and into the fresh air.

Harper had to struggle even to sit up and once he had managed that normally simple task, he had to stop to gather his strength for a moment. Then he swung his legs over the edge of the rickety camp bed, again once this was achieved he had to wait for a full minute in order to steel himself against the gargantuan task of getting to his feet.

That monumental task done, Harper stood there on rubbery legs with his arms out by his sides like the world's most cowardly high wire walker to steady himself. He had to fight back the bile bubbling in his stomach and took deep breaths while he waited for the room to stop spinning. Then perhaps another minute later, when the room and his stomach had settled, Harper put one unsteady foot after the other and ever so slowly crept over to the nearest window. He kept his one good eye trained on the goal as he shuffled alone like a zombie.

He was two steps away from making it all the way without falling flat on his face when he suddenly pitched forwards loosing what little balance he had left, Harper staggered the last two steps at break neck speed and just managed to throw out his arms in front of him in time to press his palms against the window, or else he would have hit it square in the face.

Harper cursed his failing body and rested there for a moment, breathing hard from the exertion and fear of nearly bashing the rest of his head to a pulp to match the right side. He had his palms flat against the window with his legs outstretched for balance in the stance of a criminal about to be searched by the police.

"Jesus, Jesus," he huffed and puffed waiting, hoping his legs would hold out for just a little longer. Then once he was sure he wasn't going to collapse in a heap on the floor, Harper moved forwards and rested his shoulder on the white washed stone wall next to the window.

He laid the left undamaged side of his bandaged head on the window, his eye close to where the light was peeking through the wooden slats on the other side of the glass. He held his breath and listened, hoping to hear any signs of life from the outside. The sound of someone walking past, a car perhaps if they were close to a road, even if he was lucky footsteps right outside, but there was nothing.

Harper felt a surge of dejection, he wanted to scream for help through the wood and glass but that would only bring Logan and the gun. And for a man who claimed that all this was for the greater good and who insisted his intentions were righteous, Harper was sure he had seen murder in the old man's eyes, that and a touch of madness. So he knew that Logan would most likely shoot Harper where he stood and call it justified. After all, the bastard had done it once already, and had been all the more successful with Frank back at the lab.

Harper tried to open the window but it was fitted with a lock. He slammed his fist against it in frustration but it barely moved much less shattered, braced as it was by the heavy wooden shutter fitted right up against the glass on the outside. "Help me," Harper whispered in despair. "Anybody, please help me..." He felt like sobbing but bit back the tears, there would be time enough for that if... When he finally got out of here and mad doctor Logan was safely locked up somewhere and that terrifying thing he had created was back wherever the hell it belonged.

He stood by the window for what seemed like ages, half paralyzed by a growing sense of hopelessness. Until he forced himself to shuffle back over to where the table was in the middle of the room. He leant against it for support and listen once more, but this time for Logan. No matter how quiet he had tried to be Harper knew he must have made enough noise to summon the old man who would normally have been up and in here the moment Harper had been awake but as yet there was no sign of him. "Logan?" He called out. "Logan, you there?"

Nothing. Had the old fool gone out, left him on his own for once? Or maybe he was sleeping? "Logan?" He shouted it this time at the top of his lungs, it made his head pound with the effort, but so far the dreaded tinnitus and the searing pain that followed were thankfully absent, for now.

Harper focused on the door half expecting it to open and the doctor to be standing there with that smug smile on his face. The door knob didn't move, there were no footsteps approaching. There was nothing but his heavy breathing, his hammering heart and the blood rushing through his ears. It was worth a try, Harper told himself, it probably was no more than five normal paces to the door, of course he was in no condition to make. So he would have to make do with his shuffling.

"Logan?" He gave one final shout, waited amount for the doctor to come running and when that didn't happen he began to gingerly start across the room. He concentrated on the door as he moved which helped keep him focused, Harper was surprised to find he was able to walk much better now, all he had to do was take it one half step at a time, he even put his arms down to his sides and before he knew it he rested his shoulder against the door.

"Not so bad," he told himself, of course it would all be for nothing if the old bastard had locked the door again, he tried to think. Had he heard the rattle of keys in a lock whenever Logan came and went? Granted he was a little distracted or flat out unconscious most of the time.

He reached down for the door knob and offered up a little prayer to the God of men with holes in their heads and turned it slowly. There was a soft 'click' and Harper stepped back and the door opened ever so slightly. It was absurd, he found himself fighting back tears of joy, so much had gone wrong in the last day or so that this little triumph made his heart sing.

Harper gave a little shake of the head at this and told himself to keep it together, but still it did feel good for something, even something so small as this to go right for him. He opened the door a few inches and peered through the gap to see a hallway beyond. He pulled the door open further still and stuck his head out again half expecting Logan to be standing there and to hear the clapping of hands at this new development in Harper's continued refusal to lie down and die. But it was empty. To his right Harper could see another door right at the end which was closed, to his left and just ahead was an open doorway on the right side of the wall and further down a ways at the end of the hallway he saw the front door.

"C'mon, c'mon, come on," Harper whispered, urging himself on and out into the hallway. The floor under his bare feet was cold concrete with muddy footprints here and there. Over by the front door was a coat stand with a wax cotton jacket hung on it and a pair of shiny dress shoes. The whole place had the feel of a farmhouse, maybe a cottage. That realisation brought with it a stab of concern. What if Logan had brought him to somewhere right out in the middle of nowhere? Ventrex itself was situated a good ten miles in the countryside to keep it away from prying eyes. But in the end there was only one way to find out.

Harper came out into the hallway and lent his right shoulder against the opposite stone wall with a grunt of effort to steady himself. He winced at the noise and glanced back over his shoulder to the closed door at the other end but no one came bursting out. So he slid his way slowly along the wall towards the front door, trying to keep the noise was making down to a dull roar.

When he came to the open doorway he poked his head around it and looked inside, it was a large farmhouse style kitchen, which did little to his hope that he was being kept in the middle of a town or anywhere near civilisation. Harper went inside with a growing sense of gloom and gave the room a once over. Freshly washed pots and pans neatly stacked on a draining board next to a large sink. A massive oak table with six chairs dominated the kitchen. It was now that Harper noticed that all the draws and cupboards had labels on them. Cutlery, towels and dish clothes, plates and cups. A door at the far end had a sign which read; Laundry room. On the back of the open door was a laminated poster with fire regulations printed on it and information on what to do should the house go up in flames. "Fucking holiday cottage," Harper spat through gritted teeth, now it was just a matter of how remote this place was.

He turned to leave when something caught his eye. On the work surface next to the Arga cooker was a thick wooden chopping board and a knife block filled with six black plastic handled knives. Harper hobbled over and took out each knife in turn, feeling the weight of it in his hand. He ran a finger lightly down the blade of a viscous looking serrated calving knife. It felt good.

Harper came back out into the hallway and noticed that there weren't any stairs that he could see leading up to a second floor, the place was a bungalow so he didn't have to worry about Logan coming from anywhere but outside, or the other door at the end of the hallway which so far at least remained closed. He gripped the knife tightly taking courage from the blade, if he happened upon Logan he would have to act fast, the old man had a pistol which he would be undoubtedly carrying around with him, but he wouldn't have it out ready for use as the last thing he would be expecting was Harper wandering around the place. He took a few steps towards the heavy front door, which had been left its natural wood colour to preserve the rustic feel of the place, above the door was a rectangular window which had sunlight streaming through. Harper stopped as the sunlight lit his face and closed his eyes letting it warm him for a moment.

He looked down at the knife and twisted it in his hand so the light caught the blade sending a flash of sunlight dancing off the wall next to him and contemplated what it would be like if he came across Logan unawares. The old man would shoot him, Harper was in no doubt about that, but even so, after everything that had happened, did Harper have it in him to stab Logan if needs be?

"Jesus," Harper tried to put the thought out of his head. A couple of days ago all he had to worry about was the up and coming MOT on his car, and whether or not to go out drinking with Danny and his other mates who he had known since school, or stay in and watch the football. Now he was weighing up life and death decisions. He had seen a dead man for the first time in his life and damn near joining poor old Frank as well. The song ' _What a difference a day makes'_ popped into his weary head and he almost burst into tears at the sheer lunacy of it all.

He tapped the knife absently on his leg as he waited by the front door for his courage to return. He wiped the tears that were beginning to well in his eyes with the sleeve of his grubby blood stained shirt and shifted the pair of expensive looking shoes out from under the coat stand with his right foot, he slipped his feet into them, they were a little tight, perhaps one size too small, but it was better than going outside bare foot, if the door was unlocked. Harper tried the door handle and much to his relief the door opened.

The cold air hit Harper like a punch in the face, he gasped and staggered back a pace, it was only now he was out in the fresh air that he realised just how stiflingly hot it was inside. The sweat on his face stung his skin and his breath came out in a cloud in front of his face. He gripped onto the door frame to keep himself from pitching forwards and hung his head taking deep, deep breaths. _Almost there,_ he told himself, _take a minute gather your strength then we can get the hell out of here and leave Logan to his precious fucking eco bollocks._

Harper studied his warped reflection in the impossibly shiny shoes and couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. He could only imagine how he looked, head half caved in and bandaged, his uniform covered in grime, blood and God only knew what else, no socks, skinny ankles and what looked like hundred quid shiny shoes.

"My life certainly has taken a turn for the surreal," he said out loud. Then it hit him, he couldn't hear anything other than the wind in the trees and distant bird song, his stomach knotted as he lifted his heavy head up to take in his surroundings. "God, no..." What he saw knocked him to his knees. "No, no, NO!"

Bleak frost covered countryside stretched out in all directions. The only sign of civilization in view was a small dirt road which snaked up from the front of the cottage and up a hill where is disappeared out of sight. To his left there was nothing but miles of flat brownish scrub land, to his right Harper saw much the same. "Shit," he cursed and dragged himself to his feet again, his legs felt like jelly. "Fucked," he stated plainly. Unless there was a thriving metropolis hidden around the other side of the cottage he was right slap bang in the middle of nowhere.

Harper staggered outside through the bitterly cold early morning air and was thankful for the shoes on his feet at least. The ground was frozen solid and felt jagged under foot. As he came further outside he saw a small car parked around the right hand side of the small stone cottage, which gave him some hope at least, he clung onto that and made his way around and over to it, and just as he had suspected the county side behind the cottage mirrored what he had already seem. There was not another house in sight and he could see for miles now in every direction.

It was as if someone had literally dropped the cottage out of the sky into the most deserted part of the world, he could be anywhere, it put him in mind of Scotland for a moment, but this place was flat but for a few small hills and furrows. If anything with its lack of trees it could have been the fucking Falkland Islands like he had seen on the TV, but he couldn't quite remember if that place has been as flat as this. Even in the far distance where the horizon was shrouded in mist there was nothing but empty rolling hills and fields, with no sign of life, not even the usually ever present sheep you would see dotted around on the car journey from Halifax up to the Ventrex labs he made every work day or night.

Harper suddenly felt the weight of the past few hours catching up on him, his shoulders felt heavy, his legs threatened to turn to jelly again and send him sprawling to the frozen dirt. It was harder than ever to make his way over to the car but he had to at least see if it was drivable. He was a few unsteady paces away when he thought he heard laughter. Harper stopped, there it was again, close but still off somehow. Confused, he did a slow three sixty degree turn but it was just him, the cottage and the car. He checked the windows at this side of the structure but they were all closed and shuttered.

Harper gripped the knife in both hands as much to steady them as in preparation of attack. "Logan?" He whispered but couldn't see the old man anywhere. His mind was in a spin, maybe the doctor hadn't seen him, and maybe he was on the other side of the cottage out of sight? Harper waited and listened but there was nothing but the meagre sound of distant bird song. Maybe he had imagined the sound all together. He held his breath, not for the first time since waking today and listened. He listened for what seemed like minutes then had to remember to take a breath. Nothing, he was about to return his attention to the car when the silence was well and truly shattered along with any hope he had of escaping unnoticed.

"Unbelievable," it was Logan's voice sure enough but still Harper couldn't locate the sound or the old man. There was still no face at a window grinning out at him, the car was definitely empty, and the only sign of life in this desolate place was Harpers own footprints on the frost covered ground that lead from the front of the cottage right to where he was standing. But he had heard the voice this time, he had he told himself and refused to add madness to his growing list of ills. Harper was about to call out when the old man spoke again.

"Truly amazing," Logan's disembodied voice went on. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

"Logan, where the hell are you?" Harper called out.

"Up here," came the reply.

Harper took a few steps back so he could get a better look up at the cottages slate roof, and sure enough there was Logan sat close to the back of the cottage's roof dressed in a heavy winter coat with his legs dangling over the edge. It was only now that Harper saw a metal ladder propped up against the far wall close to where the doctor was.

Logan gave him a grin and held up a mobile in way of explanation. "Only place I can get a half decent signal around here," Logan told him. "And as I'm sure you can see for yourself. We _are_ in the middle of nowhere."

"You be careful up there you old bastard," Harper said. "I'd hate for you to fall and break your fucking neck."

"Ha, I'm sure!" Logan replied amused.

Harper tried to quickly calculate the distance between himself and the ladder. Although the cottage was a bungalow, Logan was well into his sixties and could still do a significant amount of damage to himself if he had to jump down from the roof. That was of course if Harper could reach the ladder before he could and kick the thing away, before Logan scurried across and got down.

The old man caught him as he glanced across to the ladder. "Now, now, Peter." He warned and put his mobile phone back in his coat pocket and when his hand came back out he was holding the gun. He cocked the weapon with a frown. "I may not be much of a shot," he went on. "But I think even I could shoot a man in your condition before he could get to that ladder. It's not like you could sprint and zig-zag to it, is it?" Logan gestured with the pistol to the knife in Harper's hand. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"One day, old man," Harper said and tossed the knife away and it clattered onto the hard ground. "One day."

Logan began to shuffle across the roof and over to the ladder, all the time keeping the weapon trained on Harper. "Do me a favour," he said as he reached it. "Take a few more steps back so I can see you. You can lean against the car if you like. You look like you need a rest as it is. Besides, I have the keys." He patted his pocket and it jingled.

Harper held his hands out and took a few steps back until his backside hit the cars bonnet. Truth be told he was glad to have something to lean on, his aching legs already felt like he had run a marathon and the tight new shoes were rubbing his feet raw. So, resigned to that fact the old man had check-mated him once again, Harper gratefully sat on the cold bonnet and watched the Logan as he climbed onto the ladder and slowly made his way down. Unfortunately he made it to the bottom without falling and breaking his scrawny neck.

"Right," Logan said as he approached Harper. "Let's get you back inside before you freeze to death." He waved the pistol in the direction of the front door and Harper moved off. Freeze to death? He thought. That was the least of his worries.

CRAZY EARL

'Dennis, you stay at home until we call you. Dennis, you can't be trusted to come with us, just be a good boy and stay by the phone. Jesus, can you imagine what would happen if Dennis got the virus?!'

Fuck them, Crazy Earl thought as he opened up the throttle and pushed his motor bike past seventy as he bombed down the M1, the scenery screaming past in a grey blur. He had been too jazzed up to go home once Libby and Freddie had dropped him off back at theirs. So he had finished cleaning off his bike, and once he had dumped the tyres he had used at the golf course he set off on his beloved bike and spent the rest of what was left of the night and now into the early morning just riding. He had stopped for half an hour at a twenty four hour service station to juice up his bike and drink a couple of cups of outrageously priced coffee, but that was it. Maybe it was the coffee, but as the night had drawn on he had gotten more and more angry. He ran the night's events though his head as he rode around, anywhere and everywhere. It always helped him think out on the open rode his visor up so the freezing night air could shock his brain into action.

"Fuck 'em!" He screamed above the roar of the bikes engine. Who were they to say he wasn't fit to come with them to see that Doctor? _'You might do something stupid,'_ Libby had told him when on the way back from the Black Bull when he had pushed the point. And now he was relegated to little more than a background extra in what promised to be the biggest show on earth. Didn't they know who he was? He was Crazy fucking Earl, destroyer of Bugatti's and Rolls Royce's alike. Libby still thought of him as her snotty nosed little Brother. She never came right out and said it but he knew she thought he was a retard. But what had they all done? Nothing more than a few Poxy marches and the odd earth shatteringly boring wordy blogs.

And now this thing had just fallen right into Freddie's lap and he had nearly shit himself. At least Libby had pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and forced him to Man up and see this thing through. But Earl should be there too. They had no idea how useful he could be. Jesus, what did they think he would do? Drop the fucking thing?

It wasn't right, he had planned the March Dale course attack all on his own, primed the explosives and avoided any of the security cameras with nothing short of military precision. He had done exactly what he had set out to do, scared the shit out of those Allied Chemical mother fuckers, taught them that no matter how much money they had, they would still have to answer for all they had done, even if not in the courts. No one was untouchable when it came to the protection of the planet and those people they had exploited. While Libby, Paul and the others had been putting up bunting at Paul's bullshit rally. Crazy Earl had been out there doing it, out on the front line, doing it.

And now? Now he was a liability, the joker in the pack. Libby had never given him the credit he deserved, but in truth it was partly his own fault. During the early days he had tagged along behind her, slavishly doing what he told him to. Paint this, chant that. Half the time growing up he didn't have a clue what he was supposed to be protesting about. The original rebel without a clue.

But that was then, this was now. He had broken free of that mindless cycle and made a conscious effort to focus on what really mattered and how some small insignificant nobody like he used to be could actually make a difference. He had befriended those along the way who could help him, but never really bought into their ideology, but all the time he was learning, in those early days, the more radical the cause the more he learnt. Tactics, explosives even, until he was ready to go it alone, free from their conventions of right and wrong, he was his own moral compass now.

So why couldn't she see that? Earl gritted his teeth, and could feel the tears of frustration freezing to his cheeks as he sped along. He didn't know what vexed him the most, Libby's refusal to see him for the Man he was now, or the fact he so desperately wanted her to see it.

"Shit!" He was so pre-occupied that he nearly missed his junction. Earl lent the bike into the turn off with little more than a cursory glance in his wing mirror, and was thankful it was still so early that the motorway was still relatively empty. He hit the slip road still doing close to sixty so as he approached the traffic lights and the end of the slip road he had to squeeze on the brakes a little harder than was good for the bike. The back wheel locked for a second and the tire screamed in protest leaving a skid mark on the road three feet long, the bike wobbled alarmingly for a moment then Earl straightened it out. Still as he reached the traffic lights he was able to bring the bike under control and as luck would have it the lights turned to green before he had to squeal to a stop. With the road empty ahead, Earl twisted the throttle again and raced around the roundabout and onto the main road leading to his parent's house like a pro motor GP rider and it was all he could do not to actually go 'Neeoowmm', as he easily negotiated the winding road.

He would be home in five minutes and now that the effects of the coffee had worn off he would be asleep in ten. He was so dog tired that on a couple of occasions earlier he had almost succumbed to the hypnotic purr of the bikes well-tuned engine as he rode. It would be good to put the night behind him and get a few hours sleep before Libby and Freddie returned from meeting the Doc'. He stole a quick glance at his watch, it was just after 7 am so they should have just about set off by now.

Freddie had said the Doc was meeting them in some out of the way place, apparently in the middle of nowhere, which had put the brakes on Earl's half-baked idea about following them. Fuck it, he would just have to wait until they deigned to call him once they were on their way back with the virus (or empty handed if Freddie was full of shit, which was a distinct possibility) then it would be a case of lying low until the rally was in full swing tonight. At least they had agreed that Earl could go with them to it, albeit it in the background he was sure, but still, that was better than nothing. The thought of missing the grand unveiling would have been too much for him to bear.

Until then, sleep. Earl pulled off the main road and onto the estate where he lived, it was a journey he had made hundreds of times before, either on foot trudging home from school when he was a kid or like now on his beloved bike. Every bump and pot hole in the road was as familiar to him as his own face he could have negotiated the streets with his eyes closed and still found his way safely home. He felt safe here and as he rode it suddenly occurred to him how all this could change in just a few short hours, his old life, the familiarity of this old routine would be gone. What would they become? Heroes? Terrorists? Either way Earl had the feeling he was on the cusp of something life changing and was surprised to feel his stomach twist in a knot at the thought. It wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary and he took a little comfort for that.

Earl hit the brakes and pulled the bike clumsily over to the side of the road. He was expecting change, but not so earth shatteringly soon. "Jesus, God," he uttered. At the far end of the street, some two hundred yards or so away, where his home for the past twenty years was situated, were parked four police cars, their lights splashing a sickeningly cold blue on the houses all around, and painting the people who were out on the streets, some still in their night clothes, all of them gawping at his house.

"Shit," Earl froze with fear, his fingers slipped off the clutch and the bike lurched forwards a couple of feet and stalled but he hardly noticed. There were three, no four uniformed policemen milling around in his front garden, A police woman was talking to his neighbour, Mrs Jefferies over the garden hedge and taking notes. The scene was at once surreal and yet so vividly real. As he looked on in disbelief there was a commotion at his front door, Mrs Jeffries brought her hands up to her face in what looked like shock, which as several figures appeared in the doorway, Earl would have mirrored that look were he not wearing his helmet. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, then as it registered he cried out in shock.

His Mother and Father, still in their dressing gowns where being lead out of the house by two more police men and a police woman, they had their hands handcuffed behind their backs even from this distance Earl could see they were in tears. "Mum, Dad," he croaked weakly. "What the fucking hell?" A wave of nausea washed over him as the reality of what he was seeing finally hit home, he pitched forwards in shock and fell awkwardly against the petrol tank of his bike, his instinctively braced his legs so the bike wouldn't pitch to one side and hit the ground taking him down with it. "God, God, No," His mind froze along with the blood in his veins. _They were arresting his parents! His parents!!_ He was almost physically sick with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Somehow they had found out that it was he who had bombed March Dale, God only knew how, but they had identified him. But surely they couldn't have thought his parents were involved.

Suddenly realizing that if any of them chanced a look down the street they would see him sitting there like an idiot, Earl thumbed the electric starter button and the engine roared into life, he winced at the volume of the throaty chug-chug-chug of the idling engine and this snapped him out of his daze. He eased on the throttle and turned the bike around and set off back down the street where he had just come, the street where his life had changed forever sooner than he could ever have imagined even in his worst nightmare, which surely this was. He pulled back on the throttle not daring to glance over his shoulder. Not for fear of seeing the police give chase, but that he might catch a glimpse of his parents stricken faces as they were being led away. He was half a mile away before he realized he was weeping uncontrollably.

Half blinded by tears, Earl turned off the main road onto a side street and came to a stop in front of a burnt out row of shops and just let the tears come. He rested his head against the handlebars and sobbed his heart out for a good five minutes.

"Christ, Libby!" He had to tell her, warn her that maybe they were even now on their way to hers. His nausea returned. What if they arrested Libby and Freddie as well, what if they then found out about Logan and the virus. "Oh," he swallowed back another sob of despair. What if his March Dale stunt had jeopardised the whole thing?

What if he had ruined everything, just like they feared he would?

He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his mobile and with a sense of dread rang Libby's home number. "Come on, Libby, come on," he urged as it just rang and rang. Normally the answer phone would have come on by now if there was no body there to pick up, but it just rang out. He was about to hang up and try her mobile when someone finally picked up. "Oh, Libby, thank Christ..."

"Who is this?" A stranger answered.

Earl hit called end and checked the number, it was Libby's home phone number so there was no way he had misdialled. Christ they were already there. He frantically began to riffle through his pockets. Freddie had given him the number for his new pay as you go mobile that he was using to contact Logan. "Come on, shit!" He had written it down on a scrap of paper at Paul's earlier. He jumped off the bike and ripped off his jacket in a desperate attempt to find the damn thing, checked his jeans but couldn't find it anywhere. Did he risk calling Libby's mobile? Or Paul? Jesus what if they already had her and Freddie in custardy? He fell to his knees like he had been kicked in the balls and clutched at his cramping stomach, he leaned forwards and retched, spilling over priced coffee all over the pavement.

What if he had ruined everything?

TIME TO SLEEP PETER HARPER

Once the last of his adrenalin had burned itself out and the exhilaration of his near escape had passed. And even though he would have not thought it possible, Harper felt worse than ever. Now that he was back in the room, back slumped on the edge of the camp bed in the oppressive heat. He was finding it harder and harder to keep his thoughts together. Time was a nonsense again. Had it only been a couple of minutes or hours since Logan had helped him back in the room? Had he passed out again? He cursed himself, he had felt so alive when he had snuck his way out of the house, filled with an almost forgotten sense of hope, of his inner strength returning.

But that was gone now, his strength such as it was, had deserted him once again, the clarity of thought that had helped him escape a distant memory, lost somewhere in his mess of a brain. He stared down at his hands laid in his lap, they were shaking worse than ever, perhaps missing the surge of power holding the knife had given them, now that they were empty they were useless. He could have wept for the loss of it, were it not that Logan was in the room watching him, always watching, observing him like some science experiment. The old man had perched himself on the edge of the table, his arms folded, brow furrowed.

"That wasn't one of your better ideas, Peter. Wandering around like that in your condition," he said after what could have been a hundred years of silently watching him sitting there. His face was a picture of genuine concern, so genuine it scared Harper more than the ever present pistol tucked into his waistband.

Time was, Harper would have had the presence of mind to come back with a barbed riposte, but nothing came to mind so he said nothing, just continued staring at his empty shaking hands. He absently wondered if Logan given him anything. His head was filled with cotton wool and pounding away, but painlessly so, which he took as a blessing at least.

"You don't look so good," Logan told him stating the obvious.

"Maybe that would have something to do with the big fucking hole in the side of my head," Harper shot back without thinking. He actually laughed out loud. That's better he told himself, but the pride was tinged with fear. It may have been his ears but the words sounded terribly slurred to him, he had instinctively known what to say, that was a good sign, but he couldn't be sure the command got from his brain to his tongue as cogently as it had left it. He glanced up at Logan, who looked visibly shocked. Shit, he was getting worse.

Logan broke the tension with a clap of his hands. "Anyway," he said feigning levity. "Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was just speaking with our eco-warrior friends. Things are ticking alone nicely, you'll be glad to know."

Harper balled his hands into fists and forced them to stop shaking. He counted to ten backwards, just to make sure he actually could. He wanted to speak again, but fear of what would come out robbed him of speech for the moment.

"They are on their way here as we speak," Logan continued. "Should be here in a couple hours."

Concentrate, Harper told himself, think and speak, you've been doing it since you were two for Christ sake. "You... Still think... You still think your little, play... Pals will go through with this?" he stammered.

"It was a worry, I won't lie," Logan replied. "But let's just say I've burnt all their bridges for them. Just in case of any second thoughts. I haven't come this far for anyone to start getting cold feet." Logan looked off into space he frowned to himself and seemed to be struggling with some inner turmoil. "Not when I'm so close," he whispered after age, clearly to himself and not Harper.

As Harper studied him, Logan gave a forlorn smile, still lost in his own thoughts. The man was a mass of contradictions. He had damn near killed Harper back at the labs, yet here he was treating him for his wounds. And not to forget he had created that, that _thing_ , death in a small glass vial. Yet he now wanted to give it away for the good of everyone. A decision he was undoubtedly wrestling with internally. Harper shifted forwards a little and even that made his head spin. He swallowed hard and concentrated. There was more to all this than world peace, what he didn't know yet, but he couldn't see Logan as anything other than a manipulative son of a bitch. What did he mean 'burnt their bridges for them?'

"You're just using them," he said firmly and this made Logan sit up and take notice with a look on his face that blurred the line between indignation and guilt. "What are we all," Harper continued. "Just all pawns to you? Pieces in some sick game you are playing?"

"Unkind!" Logan exclaimed slapping his hands on his thighs. "I can assure you the deal is more than mutually beneficial. Besides, they're grown-ups, if a little ideologically naive for my taste. But they know exactly what they are getting themselves into. You could say they are heroes."

"Huh, Christ, I bet," Harper braced his hands on his knees and contemplated standing.

"But I must confess," Logan went on as if Harper had pressed the point. "After a lifetime of jumping through bureaucratic hoops, I have to say I'm finding it makes a pleasant change to be the player for once and not the played. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harper abandoned dreams of standing upright and snorted indignantly at Logan when he said that. He hadn't been a player one day in his whole life, especially not now. He gave the old man a _'look at the state of me'_ gesture with a sweep of the hand and Logan Laughed.

"I see what you mean, maybe one day, eh?" The smile suddenly melted away from his face replaced by a weary frown that made the hair on the back of Harper's neck stand on end. It was as if the devil himself was blowing on it from behind him. Logan's gaze, which had never been warm, took on a haunted look. And for a moment Harper thought the old man was actually going to cry.

"What?" Harper said hesitantly, he was suddenly very, very afraid of him. "Logan, what is it?" He asked not really wanting to know the answer.

Logan let out a long deep desolate breath. He screwed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again to look at Harper, there was regret in them swimming behind fresh tears. "Like I said before," his voice was hoarse, he had cough to clear his throat. "They will be here soon..."

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and for one horrible moment Harper thought he was going for the pistol until he remembered it was in his waistband and not some Hollywood shoulder holster. Still his breath caught in his throat, he glanced from the doctor to the door, twenty feet away but it may as well have been as many miles. Logan took a small brown bottle with no label on it out of his jacket and held it in his hand.

"What is that?" Harper asked. But in reply all Logan did was take a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket with his free hand. "Logan?" Harper shifted his hands to grab a hold of the side of the camp bed and braced himself to at least try and stand again.

"They will be here soon," Logan repeated mechanically. He placed the handkerchief out flat carefully on the table and unscrewed the cap off the bottle. He poured the contents of it, a clear liquid, onto the cloth and let it soak up.

Instantly Harper thought it was the virus. "Jesus, Logan what is that?" He said insistently, his voice wavering with a cold fear. "Logan, what the fuck are you doing?"

Logan's face, which had until now been passive screwed up at the smell, he turned his face away from the cloth wincing and finally looked at Harper. "Now this is a risk," he told him as he picked up the handkerchief and stood up straight. He kept the cloth at arm's length as he slowly moved towards the fear stricken security guard. "Especially looking at you, after that little walk about of yours. But I'm afraid it's a risk we're going to have to take."

"We?" Harper snapped and tried put all his weight on his arms but they failed him straight away and he didn't get his backside more than a couple of inches off the bed before they gave way and he slumped feebly back down again. "Logan, please," he pleaded as the doctor slowly approached, he caught the hit of a strong chemical smell coming off the handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Harper, truly I am, if there was some other way, I'd take it. But I don't have anything that can knock you out except this," he said nodding towards his outstretched hand. "Some pill, anything, but I'm afraid there just hasn't been the time..."

_He's going to kill me!_ Harper's damaged brain screamed in terror, after everything, he's going to poison me. It just didn't make sense, and like this? Why not just finish what he had started and put another bullet in his head? "Christ, Logan," he said weakly. "Don't kill me!"

The old man looked puzzled at this. "God, no, Harper. This is a risk, but I don't want to kill you!" He looked at Harper cowering on the bed and stopped, suddenly reticent. "This will just put you to sleep, with luck," he told him. "I can't very well have you blundering about the place when they get here, trying to play the hero, now can I?"

"Keep that away from me," Harper warned. He tried to kick out at Logan but that just made him fall backwards onto the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows, his head swimming as Logan began to approach again. "Are you out of your fucking mind!!?" He screamed. "Please, I won't do anything." He said, pleading now. Harper mustered all of his strength, aiding by a growing sense of terror and in one motion planed his feet on the floor and pushed himself up and onto his feet. He pitched forwards and flung out his hands, Logan stepped forwards and half caught, half hugged him to stop him collapsing. He grunted at the effort and then pushed him gently back onto the bed.

The acidic vapour from the chemical soaked handkerchief filled Harper's lungs making him cough and splutter. Whatever Logan had put on it was so strong it robbed him of his breath for a moment and stung his eyes just from a passing whiff.

"Jesus," he gasped.

"Harper, please," Logan said with concern and dropped to his knees next to the camp bed with a wince of pain as his old joints cracked and popped at the motion. "This is just ether. It should just knock you out for a while. That's all I'm trying to do, I promise you!"

"Fuck, you," Harper slurred and began to flail with his legs in a vain attempt to connect a blow to the old man's chest, but even Logan, who was thirty odd years his senior, easily knocked them away like he was swatting flies. This made Harper roar with frustration.

"Harper, listen to me, listen to me," Logan urged and pushed his way forwards, so he could grab Harper ferociously by his filthy shirt with a burst of surprising strength and loomed over him. "Listen to me!" He shouted right into his face. "Please," he said softer now seeing the terror in Harper's eyes, he released his grip slightly but now had most of his body weight pressing down on Harper's chest. "Harper you are dying," he said earnestly. "It's that simple,"

"No, No, get off me," Harper was finding it harder and harder to fight him, by rights he should have been able to push the frail old man off him, even now, but his limbs were jelly. "Please..."

"Yes, you are dying. You have a massive head trauma, by rights you should be dead already," he said in a low voice. "I know it's hard to remain calm..."

"Calm," Harper screamed, "You fucking lunatic! Get off me!" He felt a sudden shot of rage which gave him just about enough strength to push Logan back. The old man wasn't expecting this and lost his balance as he tried to stay on top of him, and was sent sprawling back. He lost his footing so he ended up on his backside on the floor next to the bed. Harper aimed a kick at his head which caught him hard on the forehead and he was knocked back with a grunt. Christ that felt good Harper thought, but he knew the old bastard would soon be back up again. He tried to get up, but whatever strength he had was rapidly seeping out of his aching limbs. He struggled backwards, but his back hit the cold stone wall. Trapped.

Logan was up again in a heartbeat, his face red with effort. "Harper, please, just let me do this!" He clambered back up onto the bed, Harper tried to kick him again, but this time Logan was ready for it and batted his legs away. The doctor winced as Harper hit his head on the wall as he struggled. "Harper!" He cried. "Stop this! If you start the bleeding again I may not be able to stop it this time. Let alone what the extra damage you're doing to yourself."

All Harper could do was flail at him in a blind panic, he hit his head again so hard this time he saw stars, followed by a sharp stab of white hot pain. He swooned and if he hadn't already been on his back he would have hit the floor like a drunk on an ice rink. He blacked out for a moment and the breath seemed to be sucked out of his lungs. When he came around, Logan had straddled him and was sitting on his chest, pinning his arms by his sides.

Harper screamed disorientated, terrified, the dream, it was the dream coming true. "Tommy no!!" He screamed and for an instant Logan was his brother Tommy, sat on his chest, with his head in a vice, turning, turning it ever so slowly. "God, Please..." He said weakly.

"Harper stop this!" Logan snapped. "Just let it happen."

"No, No, please Tommy, please," Harper was sobbing now, as Tommy morphed back into Logan above him.

"If there was any other way," Logan said again, he leaned forwards and began to press the foul smelling handkerchief towards Harper's face. "But I know what you're like, you'll try to warn them when they get here."

"No. no, I promise I won't, God Logan please don't kill me, I'll be good, I won't do anything." He was breathing in short sharp breaths now, almost hyperventilating, he could taste the ether as it seared the back of his throat.

Logan nodded sadly. "Oh, yes you will, and I wouldn't expect anything less from Harper the immortal." His voice was thick with regret, but tinged with something akin to admiration. "As far as they are concerned, everything went like clockwork at the lab." He pressed down on Harper's forehead with his free hand and moved the handkerchief over his mouth and nose with the other. Logan was full on crying now and despite everything Harper could feel the old man's tears falling onto his face. "So I can't very well have you stumbling in on us all blood and finger pointing, now can I?"

Harper tried his best to move his head but could do little more than shake it a couple of inches either way. The world was slipping away now as the ether filled his gasping lungs, the feeling of claustrophobia was almost unbearable, he was screaming against the cloth but his voice sounded insubstantial. He held his breath for as long as he could in a vain attempt to hold off the inevitable. He couldn't see anything through his stinging tear filled good eye, but felt Logan lean forwards, close to him.

"You'll just drift off to sleep," he whispered.

_And never wake up!!_ His failing brain screamed back. He was unable to move at all now and his lungs felt like he was breathing in acid vapour.

"Come, on," Logan coaxed gently in his ear. "Let it happen, sleep. And you must believe me, I truly don't want you to die, Harper. Just breathe in and drift away. Shh, shh."

_Just drift away_... Logan's voice was like a lullaby, soft and gently as his mother's. As she might have sounded if she had ever sung him off to sleep. So soothing, he took deep, deep breaths and found his lungs didn't burn anymore and as the pain faded, so did that crushing sense he was going to suffocate. His heartbeat, which only moments before had been hammering in his chest a thousand beats per minute had all but stopped now, which he was vaguely aware should have been a cause for panic, but not here, not anymore. He was a babe in the womb, warm and safe with a voice to help usher him off to sleep.

"That's it, just let go, drift away to a better place..." So soft, so seductive. "You'll be alright, Harper," it said and Harper believed it. "Ssh, sleep now... Sleeeeeep."

And he did.

COLLATERAL DAMAGE

As she dozed, and the road rumbled along underneath her, morbid thoughts came unbidden to Libby's mind as it drifted on the edge of sleep. She tried lethargically to push them away, tried to concentrate on the positives, of the great adventure she was on. This amazing life changing, history making adventure. She knew she should be elated at the prospect of what lay ahead at the end of the journey to meet Logan, but through it all there was a dark grey shadow loomed heavy over her like a foreboding thunder cloud moving swiftly over head to ruin a bright summer's day.

It weighed heavy on her heart, now that the adrenalin had burnt itself out replaced by a melancholic fatigue she had to fight hard not to simply burst into tears to release the built up of tension. It was such a strange feeling of emptiness, the proverbial calm before the storm she guessed. The long drawn out moment a soldier must feel in between thumbing off the safely of his gun and finally getting the order to _'go, go, go!'_ But why did it feel just so God damn dark? The answer was simple. That dark cloud, that feeling of emptiness. It was death.

They had been driving for an hour now mostly in silence. Freddie had brought along a stack of CD's but they all sounded wrong, even his famous up-beat party CDs had failed to penetrate the gloom that had settled over both of them as he drove. Perhaps if he had brought the 'funeral March' they could have played that on a loop, that seemed the only apt tune today. It really did feel like they were driving to a funeral the atmosphere was so sombre. And in a way, Libby mused they were. It would be the death of their old care free lives.

That of course coupled with the fact that they were on their way to a date with death, literally death in a bottle, a global killer of biblical proportions. And in a Nissan Micra! She smiled so weakly at the thought that it could just as easily have been mistaken for a grimace.

She didn't need to open her eyes to know the scenery they were driving though would be breath taking. Logan had hidden himself away in the middle of the Lake District and it was a bright crisp early morning, or at least it had been when they had set off. It had all the makings of a beautiful winter's day. Were it not for the destination and what they would bring away from it. Logan's gift to an unsuspecting world.

What would death look like? She wondered, broken down into its basic chemical form? Stripped away of all its myth and mystery. What would death look like if you could hold it in your hands? What colour would it be, would it smell of anything? Decay perhaps? Desolation? Or liberation? What would it feel like? Fear? Or an overwhelming sense of power?

Death is the great leveller, always waiting in the wings for its cue. Any idiot with a weapon could summon death with the twist of a knife or the pull of a trigger. Death is a gift we can all bestow on our fellow man should the mood or situation call for it. Even our bare hands can force death to put in an appearance, to snuff out another's life irrespective of social or political status. The poorest inhabitant of this planet could kill the richest, just as easily as the vilest sickest sadist can despatch the most beloved of us. Or visa-versa.

Is that why we fear it so? Libby wondered as she dozed. Death is inevitable, a journey sooner or later we all must take. You cannot bargain with it, bribe or cheat it, no matter what the champions of modern medicine would have you believe. It's all just a matter of time. Libby remembered something someone, could have been anyone from years ago had told her. Every living soul that had ever existed gets exactly the same amount of time. Whether they are the world's oldest person or the tragic babe still born after only living for half a dozen heart beats after leaving its Mother's womb.

We all get the same. A lifetimes worth.

She was pretty sure she had found that revelatory at the time, (probably due to whatever she had been smoking) but now it just added to her gloom. Libby let out a long mournful sign which seemed to come from the depths of her troubled soul.

"Jesus," She heard Freddie say from the driver's seat at the side of her. And she laughed. It sounded hollow. "What was that for?" He asked.

"Just thinking," she replied with her eyes still closed.

"What about?"

"Death."

Freddie let out the exact same deep sigh as she had just done. This time when she laughed it warmed her. "Seemed apt," she told him. "Given where we are heading."

She felt his hand rub her leg reassuringly, she put hers over it and squeezed. She finally opened her eyes and had to instantly squint against bright sunlight coming in through the driver's side window silhouetting Freddie's head like a halo. He patted her leg with his hand then returned it to the steering wheel and his mind back to the road ahead.

Libby studied his features, he looked different somehow, younger and she suddenly wanted to kiss him.

So much had changed in such a few short hours, since waking he had seemed to have shed any of the doubts he had confessed to last night. And as the morning had worn on he had grown into his new role of hero. She leant over and touched his face with her hand and stroked his cheek which was warm.

"My handsome man," she said softly.

He smiled and gave her a heavy lidded look of mischievous desire. "Wish we had time to pull over somewhere quiet." He said and kissed her hand.

"Mmm," she purred. Despite how emotionally rung out they both had been when they got back from Paul's and Dennis had rode off on his bike. Libby and Freddie had made strong fervent almost animalistic love together the moment they were alone. They had begun tearing at each other's clothes even before the sound of Dennis' bike had faded.

Libby couldn't remember the last time they had been so spontaneously passionate, not since their early days together and never so primal. It was cathartic love making at its best and she stretched out in her seat remembering it and felt the dark cloud of death lifting a little as she did so.

"Mind you," she said contemplating the matter at hand. "I think once we have a WMD in the glove compartment I imagine it will be a bit of a passion killer."

"True," Freddie agreed reluctantly. "Maybe later on, once things calm down a little."

"If they ever do." Libby sat up straight and took a look out at the country side blurring by. Freddie gave a yawn. "You okay?" She asked.

"Sure, just could have done with some actual sleep last night," he smirked but his features quickly tightened into a slight frown. "But who can sleep these days anyway?"

"Want me to drive for a bit?"

"No, I'm good thanks," he replied. "Besides, it helps keep my mind off things."

She knew exactly what he meant.

"You know us men," he chuckled. "Can't think and drive at the same time."

Libby peered through the windscreen at the long and windy road that seemed to stretch on forever through the county side. They must have turned off the motorway while she was dozing, this was at best an A road that dipped twisted and turned like a rollercoaster. "You sure you are going to be able to find this place alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, Logan gave me directions," he gestured to a crumpled piece of paper on the dashboard where most people would have had a sat nav. "He's rented this cottage in the middle of nowhere, its low tech' I'll grant you, but the directions seemed pretty clear. Another couple of hours and we should be there." He squinted at the dashboard. "Might need to stop off in a bit and get some petrol, just in case."

Libby shuffled in her seat and was contemplating giving the radio another try now that she was feeling a little more upbeat, when her mobile went off. She didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. The ring tone said it all: Green Day's 'American idiot'. He wasn't American but he was an ... "Hi Dennis, what's up?" He wasn't supposed to use her mobile to discuss the meeting with Logan, they had Freddie's new pay as you go phone for that. She just hoped he remembered not to say too much.

"Lib... It's me..." His voice was croaky with emotion, like he had been crying for a week. She could hear his hoarse breathing in between each word. There was something about it that made her blood freeze.

"Den?" The dread in her own voice shocked her. Freddie's head snapped around to look at her, he could hear it too.

There was the longest pause before he spoke again but it wasn't an empty space. It was filled to over flowing with impending doom.

"They've arrested Mum and Dad," the word _Dad_ was little more than a strangled sob.

Libby sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "What?"

"They've arrested Mum and Dad," Dennis voice cracked and for a moment there was nothing but his fitful breathing on the other end of the line. "The police... They've fucking arrested Mum and Dad!!"

"What? What are you talking about?" She choked out her mind was in a spin.

"Libby?" Freddie sounded as terrified as she felt. "Libby, what's going on?"

"Den... If you are fucking messing about..." Libby had never been religious but she prayed this was just one of Dennis' sick jokes. She knew he was annoyed at her for not letting him come along. And hoped against all hope that this was just his stupid brainless way of getting back at her. That any second he would crack up laughing _. 'Haha, got you big Sis'! Just fooling.'_

"Libby? What's wrong? Tell me!" Freddie insisted and pulled the car violently over to the side of the road, the wheels locked as he slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a halt. "Libby?"

"No, no, no," she said in utter disbelief. This must be a sick joke, _it must_.

"I saw it Libby," Dennis said he was sobbing now. "I nearly rode right into them. I, I called your home number, someone answered I think the police were at yours. Why Libby, why would they arrest Mum and Dad?" He wanted to know.

It was obvious. Libby felt the shock in her system melt away, replaced by a red rage. Suddenly Freddie grabbed her arm, she turned to look at him, she was shaking now. Her blood was boiling, she tried to speak but couldn't get the words out.

_Allied Chemicals_ , she thought bitterly. The police had somehow linked Dennis to the golf course explosions. And what's more they had come around to her house, and there was no doubt they would have arrested her and Freddie too had they been there. They could have held them for days, perhaps try and implicate them in the bombings. Then that would have been that. No meeting with Logan, no virus, it would all have been over before it started. She felt sick.

"Libby, give me the phone. Freddie snatched the mobile out of her hand. "Dennis, it's Fred. What the hell is going on?" The blood drained from his face as he listened. Libby could still hear Dennis blubbing on the phone. "How, why?" He said dumbly. "Den, where are you?" He shook his head then Dennis replied. "No, stay where you are..." His voice trailed off as Dennis was saying something on the other end. He turned to her. "Jesus Libby, how could they have found out?"

"They haven't, don't you see? It's nothing to do with us. The stupid little shit!" Libby snapped with such venom Freddie winced. "It was him! Dennis and that stupid fucking golf course stunt. He's ruined everything."

"Libby..."

"The stupid little fucking shit!!" She screamed cutting him off. Libby wrenched the phone back out of Freddie's hand, she was seething now. "Dennis, what have you done?"

"Please, Libby," he pleaded weakly down the phone. "I, I was careful..." He sounded five years old.

"Careful! Careful? You don't know the meaning of the word! They fucking ID'd you. You probably didn't even cover up your number plate." Her voice was thick with something like hate.

"I did, Libby, please don't... I was careful, I swear. It must have been Logan fucked up, maybe Freddie, or Paul." He was babbling now. "What if someone overheard us at Paul's, I bet the fucking pigs had his place bugged."

His voice was soaked in pain but Libby was unmoved. In that moment, she could feel everything falling apart, all her hopes and dreams turning to shit. And all because of her idiot brother and his stupid stunt. "Bullshit," she snapped back.

Freddie tried to placate her, but she slapped his hand away when he reached to touch her arm. "Libby, calm down, we have to..."

"No! We don't have to do anything." She shouted in his face, then back into the phone. "This is all down to you, Dennis. If they catch onto what we are doing here because of you..." She was so angry she was finding it harder and harder to catch her breath she was almost hyperventilating with rage. "I swear..." She couldn't finish, the thought of her poor Mum and Dad, terrified, locked away in some jail cell robbed her of her voice, she choked back a sob. She shook her head and threw the phone at Freddie.

"Lib, just calm down," he told her while fumbling with the phone, he finally got a hold of it and brought it up to his mouth. "Dennis... Dennis, just hold on a sec'," he held it against his chest so Dennis couldn't hear. "Lib?" She waved a dismissive hand at him her other hand was over her mouth trying to stop herself from screaming. "Libby!" Calm down." He said sternly. "Look at me!" She finally did, blinking away tears. "We need to think rationally."

"Rationally? They've arrested my parents Freddie for Christ sake." She shouted back at him.

"I know," he snapped back harshly. "But shouting and screaming at Dennis isn't going to solve anything. Now, I need you calm." He fixed her with firm look. She nodded resentful, she knew he was right and was now almost as mad at him for pointing it out as she was at herself for losing it so badly. "Good, now listen, let's drive somewhere, get a drink, something to eat and talk this through. Okay?"

All she could do was nod in reply, again he was right. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands and dug into the glove compartment in front of her for a packet of tissues. She found them and took one out to wipe her nose which was running something wicked.

Freddie brought the phone up from his chest so he could speak into it again. "Okay, Dennis... Listen I'm going to call you back later, on the other phone, do you have the number?"

She could hear him bleating on the other end. "No, I lost it," he was saying. Libby shook her head in disbelief and mouthed 'fucking idiot' which won her a withering gaze from Freddie.

He covered the mouth piece again. "Lib, enough already, he's your brother for God sake, they are his parents too. Imagine how guilty he's feeling right now."

It was petty but Libby couldn't help feeling resentment at just how reasonable Freddie was being, right or wrong at this moment she just wanted to twist the guilt knife in Dennis' guts.

"Okay, Den, Never mind about the number, I'll call you later." Freddie said into the phone.

"Can I speak to Lib?" Libby heard Dennis asked through the phone.

"Later mate, okay?" Freddie replied.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Freddie was about to reply in his grating reasonable way, when Libby suddenly grabbed the phone from him. "I don't care Dennis. You can go and give yourself up for all I care..." Freddie made a move to take the phone back but she turned away to face her door. "Have you thought about what would have happened if we had still been at ours when the police came?"

"Christ Libby, I know..."

"We would have been arrested too!" She said cutting him off. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself. Despite everything, the sheer pain in Dennis' voice was getting to her. "Then that would have been that, wouldn't it? All this would have been over before it got started, and all because you wanted to play Eco-terrorist!"

"Libby, please..." Dennis sobbed.

"No! That's it," she said with an almost calm finality. "You're out, understand? That's it for you, you're too much of a liability."

"Lib..."

She hit the end call button cutting him off and let the phone fall to her feet. That's when the tears really came. Freddie moved across and held her as great sobs racked her body.

"Sshh, it's going to be okay," he told her. "We'll figure this out, I promise."

_Okay?_ God she wondered if anything was going to be okay again. "They've arrested my parents, Freddie," she said in between sobs. "I could kill him, really I could kill him for this."

"Y'know, I think maybe I'm going to call my Mum and Dad, just in case."

She pulled away slightly to get a better look at him. "Oh, God, don't." That would be just too much to bear.

"I'm sure it's nothing, but it will be preying on my mind if I don't," he said.

"Freddie, why would they arrest your parents for something Dennis has done?" Libby asked. "You haven't seen them for ages."

"Exactly. I just want to be sure." He said gravely. "If it's just about this golf course stunt of Dennis', then they wouldn't have any reason to go after my Mum and Dad." He gently brushed the hair off Libby face and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "But if it is about Logan and the virus, they would at least question them, don't you think?"

"It's Dennis," she said firmly. Anything else would be almost unbearable. "They'll be fine."

"For sure," he replied unconvincingly.

BLAME

Crazy Earl looked down at the phone in his sweaty shaking hand and willed it to ring. Prayed like he had never prayed before for Libby's name to flash up on the caller ID, for her to beg for his forgiveness, say how she didn't mean those terrible, hurtful things she had said. That of course none of this was his fault, that she loved him and that they would figure this all out. Get Mum and Dad away from the police, sue their asses as well. But above all for her to tell him that it wasn't his fault.

But it was. Wasn't it? No! He shoved the phone back into his pocket. Let it ring, he wouldn't answer it even if it did. How dare she speak to him like that! It wasn't his fault, he hadn't done anything wrong. He had told her how careful he had been and she had just thrown it back in his face. But a moment later he had the phone back in his hand and again was hoping against hope that she would ring him back. "It's not my fault," he told the phone weakly, as if saying the words would somehow make it ring again. Make Libby forgive him.

Again, _no_ , he hadn't done anything wrong. He was convinced of it. Someone else had fucked up, spoken out of turn, and used a landline to communicate with Freddie or Logan. Yes, that was it. Dennis knew it must be the old man. What did he know about covert communications? The dumb bastard had probably called direct from the Lab he had stolen the damn thing from. All their phones would be tapped up there. It was a miracle that the old doc' got out of there in the first place. Christ, they probably had him in custody right this second. Or they were laid in wait for Freddie and Lib to come to the meeting and nick them red handed.

Or was that all just wishful thinking? Dennis (he didn't much feel like Crazy Earl at that moment, just Dennis, stupid little baby brother Dennis), could still hear the rage in Libby's voice and it still felt like a blunt knife twisting in his guts. _'This is all your fault, you've ruined everything!'_ He had never heard her sound so hateful, and it made him sick to remember. "It isn't my fault," he said again, as he put the phone away again as if maybe vocalizing it would make it so. But she wouldn't call back, not for hours. Longer maybe. Sick, it all made him feel so physically sick he could taste the bile at the back of his throat.

He leaned his backside against his motor bike and tried to clear his mind. Dennis had parked up down a side street away from prying eyes (thankfully considering how he had been wailing like a baby when he was on the phone to Libby) but now he needed a clear cool head to try and figure out what had happened. Maybe it was desperation, but he was convinced he had taken every possible caution when planning and then executing the March Dale attack.

Dennis tried his best to remain calm and went over the events of the other night in his head as systematically as he could. He had made sure his bike was well camouflaged by painting it black, covering the number plate, he had even bought a set of old tires that once he had gotten away and back to Libby's he had taken off and later burnt them on a stretch of waste ground. Even if the police had later found what was left of them, it would have been impossible to match them to the skid marks he had left on the green, let alone tie them to Dennis' bike.

Then there was the CCTV camera's, he knew there were several dotted around the car park and the road leading to the club house, but during the week before the attack he had taken a walk around the golf course itself, there was a public foot path that ran straight through the middle if it so it wasn't hard to do a recce without raising suspicions. That walk had confirmed that there were no cameras on the course so that night he had ridden right across it and parked the bike next to a bunker hidden behind a large grass verge which had given him easy access to the car park. Then he had carefully mapped out a getaway route which took him away from the main roads with their traffic cameras and onto the back roads so the police would have had no way of tracing his route past the first set of cameras at the course before he disappeared off the face of the earth. Clean away.

He had been well camouflaged dressed all in black, complete with a ski mask, so even though he knew that when he was setting the charges there would be no way they could ID him from the CCTV images at the car park. He would have just been a ghostly figure darting around from one car to the next. He had even stopped to wave at one trained on the entrance to the club house's kitchens.

Then once all the charges were set, Dennis had returned to hide behind the grass verge and wait for the right moment. He could still feel the giddy sensation as he stalked his prey. But mixed with that he had been shocked at how easy he would have found it to wait, just that little bit longer and set off the charges when those bastards had all got in their cars again. In the end he had timed it to perfection, the only slight hitch was when that waiter or whoever the hell he was came outside unexpectedly for a smoke. That had forced Dennis to quickly rewire the charge sequences so as to set off the furthest away from him first and thus driving the poor sap back towards the club house so he didn't get in the way when the closer cars when up.

That had been a source of the most pride for him. He had planned everything carefully and safely, he had no intention of killing anyone just sending them a message made of heat and light and ear shatteringly loud. So the fact that he still pulled it off with those last minute changes proved beyond all doubt that he was so much more than a mindless terrorist. He had hoped Libby would have seen that. Fool that he was.

Now that he ran it over in his head he was more convinced than ever he had gotten clean away. Which left Freddie and Logan, maybe Paul even, but if anyone was adapt at avoiding police surveillance, it was him. Dennis' money was still on the old man.

His phone suddenly began ringing. Making him actually cry out loud in shock. He smiled forlornly to himself and not for the first time today was glad there was no one around to see him jumping or sobbing like a frightened child. He fished the phone out of his pocket and thought for a moment that if it was Libby, (although he hated himself for desperately hoping it was.) But if it was his sister he wondered if he would have the strength of character to hang up on her before answering, to make her call him again and again. He looked at the caller ID and froze. One word flashed up and all defiance melted away in a heartbeat; MUM.

He stared at the screen in disbelief reading the simple word over and over as if he might be imagining it and all of a sudden he was a terrified child once more. His heart was racing as he finally plucked up enough courage to slowly raise the phone to his ear and press the answer call button. "Hello..." The word came out as little more than a choking sound. Dennis listened, he could hear what sounded like a chaotic office in the background and heavy, mournful breathing. "Mum?" He swallowed a sob as he waited for his Mother to reply.

"Dennis?" He gasped out loud, her voice sounded so weak, so full of emotion and fatigue like it had never sounded before and it ripped at his heart strings to hear it. "Dennis... Dennis it's Mum."

Should he try to sound nonchalant? After all no one saw him watching the house as his Mum and Dad were cuffed and shoved into a police car. He swallowed hard and concentrated on keeping his voice even. "Hi, Mum, you alright?" The words were filled with a hollow levity that made him feel sick.

"Dennis... I, It's just that your Dad and Me..." She sounded so weak, like she had been crying for days, so utterly defeated.

"Mum..." He stifled a sob. "Mum," firmer this time, no more bullshit, she and Dad deserved better than that, and if it turned out this was all his fault he decided then and there to man up, accept responsibility and put an end to it. "Mum, I know what happened. I, I saw... The police. What's going on, why have they arrested you?" There was the sound of someone covering the phone and muffled voices that he could not make out what they were saying. "Mum?" He shouted.

"Dennis?" A stranger's voice with an air of authority to it.

"Who is this? Put my Mum back on, you bastard." Dennis demanded.

"Now, Dennis, just try and calm down. My name is Detective Inspector Ellis. I'm at Leeds central police station, with your Mother and Father." His voice at a public school upper class clipped tone to it that instantly put Dennis' back up.

"I don't give a shit who you are. What the hell is going on here? Let me speak to my parents." He insisted as firmly as he could.

"All in good time." Ellis' voice was one of someone who was used to dictating conversations and Dennis despite himself couldn't help but feel intimidated. "Look Dennis," Ellis went on. "Firstly I want to make it clear that arresting your Mother and Father was just a cautionary action. They are not in any trouble, it's just that with the seriousness of this situation we have to look at every possibility, take every precaution. I would be neglecting my duty if I did otherwise, please understand that. No one really thinks they have anything to do with what's happened, we are just being thorough."

"What are you talking about?" Dennis asked feigning ignorance. "What's happened?" He screwed his eyes tight shut and prayed all this wasn't about March Dale, but if it wasn't, didn't that mean things were about to get a thousand times worse?

"Dennis, When was the last time you saw your sister, or her boyfriend Fredrick Holt?" The policeman asked.

_Shit!_ Dennis almost said it out loud. He took a breath before replying. "Dunno, a couple of days ago. Why?" He cursed the weakness in his voice and leant hard against his bike to stop his knees from buckling.

"Look, I don't really want to do this over the phone." Ellis said and for a moment Dennis thought he could hear a thin thread of fear in his voice. "Why don't you come in? See your Mum and Dad."

"Just tell me what's happened?"

"All in good time, Dennis where are you? Can I send a car to come pick you up?" Ellis asked.

Yeah, right, Dennis thought bitterly, just like you did for Mum and Dad. "Just tell me." He insisted.

"Well, alright," Ellis relented. "We think Fredrick has gone and done something extremely serious, I don't really want to go into too much detail, but it's incredibly dangerous."

No shit. That settled it, even though Ellis was reluctant to come right on out and saw it, somehow they knew about Logan and the virus. It was strange but Dennis felt a huge sense of relief. It wasn't his fault after all. But that relief was tempered by what that actually meant for Libby and her chances of exposing Ventrex, let alone her liberty. Also Dennis wondered if they had arrested Paul too.

"That doesn't sound much like Freddie," he finally said.

"Freddie Holt is known to us Dennis, so is Libby, and so are you." Ellis paused letting the gravity of the statement sink in.

Not as much as you think smart arse, Dennis thought and for all his fear, he was feeling more and more like Crazy Earl again. You think you're so clever, but you don't know shit. You don't know about March Dale. But how much do you know about where Freddie and Lib have gone? "So what exactly has Freddie supposed to have done?"

"Dennis, your Mother and Father are worried sick about what Libby might be getting herself into." Ellis replied evading the question. "And I would just like to stress that we don't believe you are involved in any of this. But please, not only for your sake but also for Libby's, if you do know anything, you must tell me, Dennis. This could literally be a matter of life and death. I'm sure you don't want anyone to get hurt, least of all your sister."

Dennis heard his Mother sob in the background at this, and could just about make out his Dad trying to comfort her. The sound made the breath catch in his throat. "Put my Dad on," Dennis asked. "Please. Just for a second?"

"Of course Dennis, one moment." Ellis replied and once again Dennis could here muffled taking as the policeman covered up the mouth piece.

Eventually his Dad's weary voice came on the line. "Den, you alright mate?"

"Yeah," Dennis replied and a sob of heartache escaped his lips hearing his Dad's voice. He slammed his fist against his leg and told himself to be strong, he didn't know if the police could trace a mobile, but if they could they would have had ample time to pin point his location. Time was short.

"Dad, listen to me. I know what's going on..."

"No, Den, this is really serious, son," his Dad cut in.

"Dad, please. I know what's going on and I know it's hard but you must believe me when I say that one day, soon I hope, you and Mum are going to be so proud of Libby and Me."

"Oh, Dennis, please..." His Dad pleaded. And even though he wouldn't have believed it was possible, Dennis' heart broke a little more at the despair in his Dad's voice.

"It'll all become clear soon, Dad," he told him and could hear Ellis in the background telling his Dad to get him to come in. "Dad, I gotta go, but tell Mum... I love you both..." He hung up before his Dad could say another word and leant against his bike in that deserted side street and sobbed his broken heart out once more. Sobbed for his Mum and Dad, for the uncertainty of what may lie ahead, but strangely, mostly because he realised he had never told either his Mum or his Dad that he loved them before. And he just hoped that once the dust settled he would have the chance to tell them that face to face and he promised himself that, if he did come through his he would tell them both every day for the rest of their lives.

An hour later Earl thumbed a text:

Call me on this number, and make sure you use Freddie's new phone to do it. Yours is compromised. And stow the bullshit Big Sis, they know and it was that precious doctor of yours, Paul or your boyfriend. Not me. Earl.

Crazy Earl hit the send button on his new phone with a strange sense of satisfaction. Since he had cried himself out on that (thankfully) deserted side street, Earl had been galvanized with a new purpose. It had welled up inside him as he sat on the pavement with his back leant against his parked bike and the pain and sorrow had just drained away. This new found resolve was born both out of necessity and the fact that he had been proven right.

March Dale had nothing to do with his Mum and Dad's arrest. That stupid fucker Ellis thought he had nothing to do with what was happening (in truth he did indeed have very little to do with events so far, but by Christ as he had sat there after sobbing his heart out, Crazy Earl had vowed to himself that too would change.) And he would use that to his advantage, Libby and Freddie would have to lay low, if they could get the virus from the old man with all that was going on and he wasn't actually already banged up. And he knew it would be down to him to help get them to Paul's rally and he would then make damn sure he was right there with them, centre stage when they did the great unveiling.

That was of course still dependent on them not only getting the virus, but that Paul wasn't in the next cell to his Mum and Dad. Earl had made a cursory pass by the university concert hall Paul had hired for the rally tonight and had been heartened to see that preparations seemed to be still in full swing. That would have to do for now, he couldn't risk calling Paul, even on the new pay as you go phone he had just bought from Asda. He was in the super market car park now. He had bought the exact same model as his own phone so he could exchange the new empty battery that came with the phone with his fully charged one and dump his old SIM card after copying a few of the essential numbers over. Libby's, Mum and Dads (just in case) and Paul's.

It was all counter surveillance 101 but he was still proud to have covered all the bases. Now it was just a matter of waiting for Libby to get down off her high horse and call him. Like it or not, once she realized what was going on she would have to trust him and let him help. It felt good to be part of things again and he was determined not to let anyone marginalize him again. With that he headed for the McDonald's next to Asda to sit and wait for the call.

He wouldn't have to wait too long.

BRIDGES BURNT

As she watched Freddie's melt down, Libby felt an eerie sense of calm wash over her. It was as if a switch had suddenly been flicked in her head shutting off all the panic, rage and blind terror the past few minutes had wrought on her psyche. She felt oddly calm now that events had reached their lowest point. Round and round and round it goes, she thought, remembering the rhyme that seemed so apt of late. Where it stops, nobody knows. By rights Libby knew she should be sitting in the car with Freddie now, banging her head on the dashboard at the sheer apparent hopelessness of it all. But she wasn't. She was sitting at a picnic table outside The Hilltop Bikers café, nursing a coffee and looking out over the sumptuous scenery the café's well named location afforded her.

The café was literally miles from anywhere, situated a top of a steep hill over-looking the valley below which was a mass of mist shrouded fields and rock formations. They were only an hour away from Logan's hideaway, but at this moment it may as well have been a million miles away. Libby calmly sipped her coffee and looked back over to the car where Freddie was hammering his fists on the steering wheel in a mute rage. She knew exactly how he felt, but it was all about how you dealt with these kinds of shitty situations fate throws up, especially when you were on your way to change the world. What had they expected, that it would be easy?

She couldn't hear him, but it was plain from the way his shoulders were shaking that Freddie was sobbing again, and who could blame him. They had his family just as they had Libby's.

Freddie had tried calling his parents but had gotten no reply. Then came the call from his Dad to Libby's phone as Freddie had ditched his own in favour of the new cheap pay as you go one he had used to contact Logan. They were all under arrest, dragged out of their houses by armed police. Freddie's Mum, Dad and even his older brother Mike, who lived half way across the country. The news had knocked Freddie on his arse. Then the police inspector had come on the line, with his promises of immunity if she could persuade Freddie to come in and put an end to this folly. Libby had enjoyed telling him to go fuck himself.

She had literally just hung up on the prick when Dennis' text came through. Too late, but he was right, his little golf course fireworks party wasn't to blame after all. She didn't reply on her own phone thought, that was compromised now so she dumped it. They would have to rely on Freddie's new phone and hope that the police hadn't tagged her location before she had.

Libby scanned the horizon half expecting to see a police helicopter come flying into view, but there was nothing in the endless bright blue sky but a smattering of soft white clouds, it was too remote out here even for birds it seemed. She looked to the long winding road that led up to the café, there were no police cars cutting their way through the countryside, the road was all but deserted at the moment save for two insanely motivated cyclists powering their way up towards her, they still had a good half a mile or so to go before they reached the café but peddled on regardless like they were struggling through a sea of invisible treacle, two brightly dressed obsessives at odds with the calm world around them.

Libby knew how they felt, although her inner turmoil had eased somewhat, she was a woman in limbo, on the cusp of something amazing but on a road that could just as easily fall away right from under her and she would be left spinning in darkness, crushed under the weight of what might have been. Dark thoughts for dark times she mused and sipped her coffee which was cheap but thankfully strong although she wished she had brought along some vodka to give it that little extra kick.

"This is insane," Freddie's voice was hoarse from crying, Libby looked up from her vodka-less coffee, she hadn't even heard him get out of that car. He slumped down at the picnic table next to her and she slid over her coffee which he picked up and took a sip. "Thanks."

"You okay?" Stupid question she knew but she needed to gauge if he was still with her or if this had broken his already fragile spirit.

"Yeah," he replied taking another sip. "All cried out."

She rubbed his back and gave him a peck on the cheek. "It is insane," she agreed. They sat passing the coffee between themselves and for a while neither of them spoke. Libby desperately wanted to call her Mum, but that would just give them Freddie's new number. Besides, she remembered the pain in Dennis' voice and how the colour had drained out of Freddie's face when he had spoken to his Dad. Sure, she felt strong right now, but when she even thought about her Mum and Dad in jail because of her was like the contents of her stomach turned to acid and she could only imagine what speaking to them would do to her resolve.

No, she had to push the urge out of her mind, there would be time enough later to make things right, she had to focus on that and on the task that still lay ahead as long as they stayed strong. But of course things had changed in the space of two phone calls.

Before them she only had to worry if Logan was really on the level. Even that had changed. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind about that now. He had taken the virus, the call from the police proved that. The old man was true to his word. But the answer to that question now gave rise to another. And now all their fates and that of their families were dependent on the answer to this new terrifying question. What if they had Logan already?

"Hell of a place to regroup," Freddie finally said as he took in the scenery.

"Yeah," she had to agree, but it was better than Paul's, which as they spoke might be knee deep in police. That was when she saw the dark spot on the road way off in the distance moving towards them at quite a pace. It was a sight that brought conflicting emotions with it. "Here he comes," Libby said and pointed down the valley to the fast approaching motor bike.

It had been Dennis' idea to meet at hill top, it was a place he knew well as a biker (of sorts) and was on the way to Logan's cottage. It afforded a great panoramic three sixty view so there was no danger of them being snuck up upon, which in its self was a comfort now that they were paranoid fugitives from the law.

But it had meant Libby telling Dennis roughly where they were going. She owed him that, she knew albeit grudgingly. Libby had been quick to blame him for Mum and Dads arrest, but it was plain now that it wasn't his fault. She felt guilty for that but it didn't change how much of a liability he had the potential of being. Still, as he approached she had to admit it would be good to see the goofy little idiot.

"He can't come with us Libby, you know that," Freddie said as Dennis started up the insanely steep hill which led to the café. Past the two cyclists who were still powering up with the aid of nothing but their own two legs.

"I know," she replied. "And so does he. But we need him Freddie, now more than ever." She could hear his tinny little engine as the bike struggled up the last part of the hill and came into the car park. Libby stood up and felt a sudden rush of emotion. Her silly little brother on that clapped out death trap, she was so glad to see him. She had hated the rage she had felt when he had first told her about their parents, she had almost wanted to believe that it was his fault. That would have made things so much easier.

He pulled the bike to a stop next to two massive 550cc road bikes that were parked by the cafes entrance. They were so big his little 125 looked like a child's toy propped up absurdly next to them. That was so typically Dennis that she laughed out loud.

He stood motionless by the bike as if uncertain whether to approach or not. They hadn't spoken since she had hung up on him just send a couple of texts to arrange the meet. Libby couldn't see his face behind the helmets tinted visor and suddenly didn't know how to react. Then Dennis ripped off his helmet and she could see that he was crying. He let the helmet drop by his feet and for a moment they just stared at each other in shock. He shook his head ever so slightly and shrugged.

Before she realized what she was doing, Libby was running at him with her arms out wide, tears half blinding her as she stumbled towards him. "God, Dennis, I'm so, so sorry..."

Dennis half hugged half caught her and pulled her close.

"Lib, Jesus what a mess..."

"I was so mad, I thought... Well I guess I didn't really think. I'm just glad you're okay, I'm sorry I didn't believe you." She squeezed him hard sobbing with relief.

"It's okay," he said into her ear. "I've got to be honest, at first I thought it was my fault too. It's all just a fucking mess."

"I know," she disentangled herself from him and wiped her eyes. "You big dummy," she slapped his arm playfully. "Come on, we're making a scene." Libby lead him over to the picnic table where he hugged Freddie before the three of them sat down to go over what in the hell they were going to do next.

"Christ what a nightmare," Dennis said, keeping his voice down as the owners of the two super bikes came out of the café and got onto their beasts and roared away, he turned to Freddie. "Your parents and brother too?" He asked in disbelief. Freddie just nodded forlornly. "Jesus. But they can't hold them, can they? I mean they haven't done anything wrong. They've got nothing to do with any of this."

"They think we are terrorists," Freddie told him flatly. "They can do whatever they want."

"But they won't," Libby cut in, she squeezed his arm reassuringly. "They're just trying to scare us, make us turn on each other. Our parents will be fine, they can't prove shit. Remember we haven't actually done anything wrong."

"Yet," Dennis said.

"Oh, I dunno," Freddie said with a shake of the head. "Just knowing about Logan taking the virus and not going straight to the police is probably an offence in itself."

"Something must have gone wrong when Logan took the virus," Libby said to Freddie who shook his head again at this.

"No, Logan said it went like clockwork." Freddie said adamantly.

"But we can't know for sure," Dennis said.

"I believe him," Freddie replied.

This wasn't getting them anywhere, Libby thought. "It could be any number of things," she said. "The police have probably been monitoring Paul's for months now, especially with this rally coming up. The point is what are we going to do now?"

"Lib, they've arrested our families!" Freddie exclaimed.

"I know, but not us. And hopefully not Logan either. If you ask me, this changes nothing."

Freddie gave her a look like she was insane. "Changes nothing?" He said in disbelief.

Libby winced. "Keep your voice down," she urged. The two red faced cyclists came slowly over the brow of the hill and coasted down into the car park and over to the café wall. One of them caught her eye as he got stiffly off his bike and gave her a _'look we just cycled up Everest'_ face. She smiled admiringly back and gestured over to her car. The cyclist laughed and then they both staggered into the café for a well-earned break.

Libby turned back to Freddie and Dennis. "We have to keep to the original plan," she told them. "And just pray Logan isn't in a police cell somewhere."

"I bet it was the website," Dennis said after some thought. "Fred, I bet they've been monitoring your website. You are always blogging about Ventrex."

"No, come on, I'm not stupid, I never once mentioned Logan, or any of this." Freddie replied. "That was part of the deal with meeting Logan. No one could possibly know we know him. Besides, think about it. Did that police guy mention the virus?"

"Shit, you're right," Libby said. Now that she thought about it, Ellis was more than a little vague about what it was Freddie and her had actually done. "Dennis, when he spoke to you did he say anything about Logan, or the virus?"

Her brother thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. "Now that you mention it, no. Just that you were into something dangerous. Something like that anyway." Though he sounded less than confident in that.

"Weird," Libby said.

"Yeah," Dennis agreed. "But they have found out somehow."

"But how?" Freddie asked. "Logan told me the whole thing went like clockwork, like clockwork."

He keeps saying that, Libby thought, over and over like some kind of mantra. But the truth was they only had the old man's word for it. Maybe be he didn't even know if he had fouled things up. After all who was he really? Just some government boffin, he was hardly what you would call spy material. He probably didn't know the first thing about covering his tracks. "My money's on Logan," Freddie was about to object, but she waved him way. "I'm not saying it's necessarily his fault," she conceded. "But I think he messed up somehow, even if he didn't know it. Think about it, we're small fry, why would they be watching us?"

Dennis exhaled. "Whatever's gone wrong, I'm just glad it wasn't my March Dale stunt." He smiled at Libby forlornly.

"I know." She said warmly. "Me to."

"What about Paul?" Freddie asked. "We told him what we were planning, now I'm not saying he turned us in, but of all of us, he's the one most known to the authorities. Maybe they were monitoring him."

Libby wasn't so sure about that. "No, Paul is almost one of them now. This time next year the guy could be an MP for Christ sake." Then it hit her. "We didn't actually plan any of this, did we? It all comes back to Logan. They must have known straight away when he took the virus. That's my bet. I just hope to God they don't actually know where he is."

"If they did, they wouldn't have bothered contacting us, they could have arrested him any time." Freddie pointed out. He sat up clearly heartened by the thought. "They were relying on us to turn him in. That's why they arrested our parents, as leverage. Bastards."

"So you do concede they know Logan took the virus?" Libby pressed him on the point but he just shrugged. Not that it really mattered. The police didn't know where Logan was, Libby was leaning towards that theory with growing confidence. Which meant they could still pull this off. It was just a matter of if they went straight to the press or used the more risky option of Paul's rally. That would have a must bigger instant impact but brought with it its own dangers. _If_ the police knew Paul was involved.

She looked at the two of them gravely. It was time to put up or shut up. "So, are we still going through with this?"

"Hell yeah," Dennis answered instantly, nodding vigorously. Freddie, as Libby knew he would, looked less convinced.

"Fred?"

He studied the wooden picnic table and furrowed his brow. He traced his finger-tips along the grain of the rough wood. Libby had to fight the urge to press him for an answer, now wasn't the time to cajole or shame him. Things had become too finely balanced for that now. He seemed to take an age to reply. Dennis gave her a look and screwed his face up, she shook her head ever so slightly.

"Christ," Freddie said to the table top.

Softly, softly, Libby's inner voice counselled. "Fred, we have to." She said. "Think about it. The police would have found out sooner or later anyway."

"True," he conceded still not looking up. But that was enough for now.

"Den?" Libby said.

"Yes boss?" He replied and gave her a salute. "And would it hurt to call me Crazy Earl?"

"Yes, yes it would," she answered which won a sly smile from her brother and Libby had to admit to herself it was good to see. "We're going on to Logan's," she told him firmly. "And before you say anything. No you're not coming."

He held out his hands defensively. "Okay, I'm not completely stupid. I figured not." Still there was a tangible tone of disappointment in his voice.

"Good. Your job is to contact Paul, make sure the police haven't got to him. But don't call," she warned. "Even on your pay as you go phone, go see him just in case they are monitoring his phone lines. And keep your head down."

"Will do." He said in a cocky tone.

"And try to be subtle, you are a fugitive now, remember?" She told him good naturedly.

He gave her a wicked grin. "Well technically that's you and Freddie. I can still turn the pair of you in if I need to." She made a half-hearted attempt to clip him around the ear but he dodged. Libby took heart from seeing that Freddie smiled at this.

"Christ," Freddie said and finally looked up at Libby. "What if they have got Paul?"

"Then we think of something else." She said and felt that surge of self believe building in her stomach once more, like a shot of bourbon on a cold night. "He wouldn't thank me for saying it, but we don't really need him. Not once we get the virus." A girl could go mad with power she mused to herself.

"What have you got to smile about?" Freddie asked.

Libby flushed and shrugged awkwardly.

"You think the bastards will stop the rally? It would make sense." Dennis said saving her blushes without realising it.

"Dunno," she said. "But as far as I can tell, if they do know about the virus, the police are keeping things under wraps. Christ knows they have to. And that's all the better for us. We would be screwed if they decided to plaster our faces all over the news. But they can't, can they? Jesus, can you imagine the panic if this gets out?"

In a world drowning in uncertainly, the one thing Libby was sure about was the rally. The police couldn't cancel it, even if they suspected what they were going to do. The furore that would cause would blow any hope the police had for keeping this thing under wraps. But still, she was glad it wasn't the be all and end all. If anything the thought of bypassing Paul's part in all this was devilishly tempting. No, she chastised herself, that was just being petty, she had to think of the big picture. The rally was their easiest route to public exposure, she had to remember that.

"Lib?" Freddie said making her jump slightly. She had been so lost in her thoughts she had forgotten to speak. "You were miles away there. What are you plotting?" He narrowed his eyes but she could see he was half joking.

"Just running the percentages," she said. "That's all. We have to keep our options open."

"But the rally is our best shot," he stated.

"Of course," she replied a little too hastily. Once again it was Dennis, as oblivious as ever, who came to her rescue.

"Don't worry, I'll check in with Paul, make sure everything's Kosher. But you still think you can get in without anyone seeing you?" He said.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Whatever happens I'll call you once we've got the virus. Then we can plan what to do next."

The virus, just the thought of it gave her a chill, it was strange but with everything that had happened with their parents and the police it seemed insane, but Libby had actually forgotten what it was they were heading to get. She suddenly felt cold as the reality of their situation hit home. She bit back the urge to just yell out loud. They were on the run from the police, her parents had been arrested, any hope they had of stealth and of course going back to anything like normality had been snatch away from them. They were now effectively fugitives from the law, hunted, hiding in plain sight and on their way to take procession of a weapon of mass destruction. It was enough to turn your hair grey. "Shit," the word came out as a hiss.

"So, we are really going through with this." Freddie said. It was more of a statement than a question. And once said it hung heavy in the air around the three unlikely revolutionaries sitting in an equally unlikely location; at a picnic table on top of the world.

Dennis just gave a long whistle in reply. It sounded to Libby like a bomb dropping which was horribly apt.

"Yes we are," she said as much for herself as the others. "We can do this. We can." She looked Freddie and Dennis each in the eyes in turn. "So what if they've found out? That just makes it all the more important we go through with this." _To the bitter end_ a voice in the back of her head whispered but Libby just about managed to stop herself from repeating it out loud. "Like it or not, there's no turning back now."

That was a show stopper if ever there was one. All three of them sat in silence reflecting the gravity of their situation.

After the longest moment it was Freddie who broke the spell. "Is everyone as scared as I am?" He said, his voice gossamer.

"Yes!" Both Libby and Dennis answered at the same time. All three of them cracked up laughing at this, which in some small way help chase away the horrible sense of impending doom that had settled over them. It was the sort of desperate laughter that if carried on too long unchecked, would soon drift towards hysteria.

"Jesus," Dennis remarked and wiped tears from his eyes. "What times we're in."

"Shit, I'll say," Freddie agreed.

***

As she watched them embrace in fair well, Libby thought her little brother and Freddie looked like two friends departing off to war. Neither knowing if they would see each other again. Throughout the three years Libby had been seeing Freddie, he and Dennis had never been that close, she had always thought, assumed maybe, that Dennis had somehow been jealous of Freddie getting all her attention. But in that moment, they could have been brothers.

Freddie took Dennis by the shoulders. "You take care, man." He told him. And Libby realised she could see tears in his eyes.

"Yeah," Dennis replied softly, fighting back tears of his own. "You too mate."

"Get a room!" Libby called out shattering the moment, much to the two boys relief. Dennis picked up his helmet and walked over to her and she had to fight the urge to burst into tears again. Libby didn't know quite how it had happened but somewhere along the way she had become the strong one out of all of them. And as such she couldn't just break down and grab a hold of her brother, squeeze the breath out of him and tell him just how much she loved him. Still, looking at him standing there all grown up, she couldn't help but wonder that this just might be the last time she would see him. The realisation hit her like a slap in the face and she could tell by his reaction that it must have shown plain on her face.

"Lib?" He said tentatively.

She took a deep breath and pushed that thought from her mind. If it was the last time she would see him, then let his memory be that of her smiling mischievously. With that in mind she beckoned him over, then, when he was in range she punched him hard on the arm, like she had done a thousand times when they were growing up.

"Shit, Libby?" He complained theatrically rubbing his arm, but he was smiling all the same.

"Take care of yourself shithead." She told him.

He gave her a sly smile that almost broke her heart. It was one he had flashed at her countless times over the years, it was so _him. So Crazy Earl_ , reckless and stubborn, so down right immature, a look she had loved and hated so many times before. It summed him up so completely she nearly wept seeing it again. "Always, Sis, you know that," he said. "You know me."

At that she grabbed him a little more violently than she had intended, he gasped as he pulled him close. She bit back tears and cursed herself for having to be so God damned in control. "I do know you," she whispered in his ear. "That's exactly my point."

She loved him so much, that snotty nosed little kid who used to follower her around, always there getting under her feet. Then all at once she remembered every single time she had gotten mad at him for cramping her style and told him to go home, told him he was too young to hang around with her. It felt like her life flashing before her eyes. She could suddenly see every single look of pain on his face, long forgotten, until now.

"God Den, I love you, I'm sorry... About everything," she said.

Any other time he would have laughed at that. And again she realised like a physical blow that she had never told him she love him before. Still, whatever his reaction she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, she was glad she had finally said it. But he didn't laugh, he just held her closer still.

"I love you too," he whispered back. And then thank Christ he added; "But tell anyone and I'll fucking kill you."

She pushed him away laughing more out of relief than anything. "I'll see you at the rally, shit head. And for the love of God, try not to get caught until we get there!"

Dennis cocked a grin and pulled on his helmet. "There ain't been a jail built yet that can hold Crazy Earl!" He replied triumphantly and got onto his bike. "Laters," he said and started the engine, he revved the throttle until the engine screaming in protest.

She shouted above the noise; "And for Christ sake try not to blow anything up until we get there!"

"I'll try!" He said and sped off out of the car park and away off down the road in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes.

Libby watched him go with a heavy heart.

As he disappeared off down the hill, Freddie slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze. "We gotta go," he said.

"Yeah, she said reluctantly and turned to him. The fear of what might come was etched all over his face. "We are going to be alright," she told him. "You know? We can do this."

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself," he pulled her close. "Jesus, I just glad you're with me Lib. We both know I would have bottled it long ago if you weren't."

She took his face in her hands and it was plain that he spoke the truth and that he wasn't just fishing for validation. Still, she was glad to lie to him. "No you wouldn't," she said. "You just need to have a little faith in yourself, that's all." She kissed him and brushed the hair off his face. A face she had loved one, maybe she still did. Time and the events of the next few hours would tell for sure she guessed. "What we're doing here, It's, it's incredibly important. We'll be okay. Just know this, Fred. I'm so proud of you. Whatever happens, this is all down to you. You started all this. You're a hero," she said and he wrinkled his nose at her.

"Huh, really? I don't feel much like one." He replied despondently.

She kissed him again and took his hand. "Come on," she said and led him across the car park and over to their car.

"Nothing is ever going to be the same again," Freddie said as they reached the car. He paused to take in the landscape around them.

"I'm sure this place will be," she said. Places like this never seemed to change and that was a comfort to her. She thought she might come back here once all this was over. _If_ she could. She would sit at that same picnic table, with Freddie and Dennis, maybe even Logan. Four heroes drinking cheap coffee and reminiscing on the adventure they had survived. The thought turned sour even as she imagined the scenario. _Nothing is ever going to be the same again._ Were they just ideological fools, groping in the darkness? Or would they really have made a difference once all this was over? "Time will tell," she whispered into the wind.

Freddie drummed on the roof of the car with the palms of his hands, snapping Libby out of her reflective state. "Well, history here we come." He said. And with that he got into the car.

Libby took one last look at the peaceful world around her and she realised she was shaking. With fear, cold or excitement she couldn't say. "History here we come," she echoed to herself. "Ready or not."

HANDLE WITH CARE

"Now you're sure everything is working alright?" Bob Jackson asked the old guy who had hired Dry Brook cottage. "Don't get me wrong, the place has been refurnished to the highest standards, it's an old place but it was made to last, y'know? Not like those modern monstrosities they are throwing up over in Dirk Dale." The old man smiled politely. He seemed nice enough to Bob, but he had to admit the old fellow didn't look too pleased to see him when he had turned up unannounced to give the place the one over.

Bob had promised the letting agent he would check in on the place if he was passing, just to make sure that everything was running okay. Even though Bob wasn't actually the official care taker of the cottage, he had been the one who had fitted the central heating last year and was more than happy to make a few quid cash in hand to check up every now and then, especially out of season like now.

"Everything is working wonderfully," the old guy told him. "This place is just what the doctor ordered."

That made the old fellow smile slightly at some private joke or other. "Good to hear," Bob said. "I just thought I'd make sure, what with the weather turning colder, the pipes are new enough, but it can get hellish cold out here in winter and no matter how good the pipes are they freeze up on you sure as shit."

"I have no doubt," the old man replied. "I was just about to have some coffee, may I offer you some?"

This took Bob back a little. He had gotten the distinct impression right off that the old guy didn't want him around. Bob had figured he had some woman hidden in there, and was pretty sure it wouldn't be his wife. He looked to Bob like one of those college professor types who probably had a student in there hoping for extra credits. It seemed that more often than not, people used the cottage as a secret get away for their adulterous little trysts. Not that Bob cared either way, it was all the same to him.

Still the old guy's manner had changed over the course of the last couple of minutes from one of annoyance to being down right hospitable. Maybe the old fellow was alone after all and just wanted a bit of company, but there was something about the man's eyes that made the hair stand up on the back of Bob's neck. Shit, he suddenly thought, the guy's probably a serial killer or something and he would be seeing the place on the news next week going on about all the bodies the police found in the cottage. That made him shiver, he looked around the outside of the place, which seemed the same as always, but what did he expect? Blood dripping off the walls?

Bob Jackson suddenly became acutely aware of just how out in the middle of nowhere he was. He had taken a detour to come all the way out here to check on the place. An unannounced detour nobody knew anything about.

"You sure you wouldn't like to come inside for a cup of coffee?" The old man asked again and swept his hand through the front door behind him. His genial smile looked more like a manic grin to Bob now. Bob shook off the notion and told himself not to be so damn stupid. Still, all things being considered he would rather run naked around Leeds city centre than step into the cottage with this creepy old git.

"You here alone?" He found himself asking without engaging his brain.

"Just me and the poor chap I have kidnapped. He's in the back room." The old guy said in a matter of fact tone.

Bob laughed nervously but the old fellow looked deadly serious. So much so that he almost said; _'Really!!?'_ Until a genuinely warm smile broke out across the man's face. "Ha!" Bob said in a strange high pitch voice. He coughed, clearing his throat and the old man laughed.

"Just joking," the old man said. "He's in the cellar,"

Both men laughed this time, but Bob made sure he kept one eye on him.

"No, really..." Then; "Yes, I'm alone," he relented. "But I am expecting some friends over any time now. And once again, you are more than welcome to come in for a drink until they get here."

_Not fucking likely Hannibal Lector,_ Bob's inner voice screamed, but he managed to say instead; "Oh, no thank you. I should be getting back. It was, erm, it was nice meeting you, and I'm glad everything's okay with the place."

"Couldn't be better, and thank you for stopping by, it was most thoughtful," the old man replied.

Bob had to force himself to walk and not run to his Land Rover. All the way he could feel the old man's eyes on the back of his head. And sure enough he was still standing in the doorway when he got into the car. He waved cheerfully and Bob waved back. He started the engine and drive off faster than he had intended but didn't care, he was just glad to be away. Yep, serial killer for sure he thought as he sped up the hill and away.

Half a mile along the normally deserted road he passed a couple in a Nissan Micra going the other way. Rather you than me, he thought and turned up the heater because he had started to shake.

***

Freddie slowed the car a little as they reached the brow of a hill. As they drove over the top the countryside stretched out beneath them and Libby could see a solitary stone cottage located at the bottom of a dirt track. The cottage looked quaint enough and wasn't surrounded by a dozen police cars, which, she mused, was a good start given everything that had happened since they started the drive over here. In fact the cottage was surrounded by nothing but barren scrub land. It was the sort of place you would hire if you were looking for a base from which to set off hiking or mountain biking around the countryside as quite frankly from one look at the area, she couldn't imagine there was anything else to do. It was perfect.

"That's the place," Freddie said redundantly. He even gave his hand drawn map the once over as if to make sure.

"Yes, Freddie, I gathered that." She said. She smiled at him but he was too intent on driving down the track towards the cottage, frowning as he concentrated on avoiding the pot holes as he went.

As they approached, the front door opened and a smartly dressed man, Libby calculated was in his late sixties appeared and waved to them.

"That's him," Freddie said and waved back.

The famous doctor Logan. Libby hadn't known what to expect, but he seemed just so normal, she had to smile to herself as she realised she had half expected to see a classic mad scientist type with unruly white hair and a lab coat. But Logan looked more like a kindly grandfather than Doc' Brown from back to the future. Although his hair was white, it was combed back neatly, his equally white bread was closely trimmed and he was wearing a smart tweed suit. All together it reminded her of Indiana Jones' Father in that film.

"Sean Connery, right?" Freddie said, reading her mind as he pulled the car up in front of the cottage.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Not what I was expecting at all." He was just a regular scientist, not a mad one. Or at least that was how he looked and Libby had to remind herself what he had created and why they were here.

Logan came down off the porch and across to greet them as Freddie and Libby got out of the car. He walked straight up to Freddie and gave him a big hug. "Freddie, my dear boy," he said with genuine warmth, like an old uncle greeting a much loved nephew.

"Hey, Doc," Freddie slapped his back warmly. "It's good to see you," he said and looked around after the Doctor finally released him. "And good to see you're alone."

The old man nodded with a hint of gloom. "Indeed, with everything that's happened." His voice trailed off and he turned to face Libby. She felt suddenly nervous, if he was like Freddie's favourite uncle then she felt like she was the new girlfriend meeting him for the first time. Her face flushed as he gave her a warm smile. "And this must be Libby."

He moved to embrace her but she awkwardly held out her hand for him to shake which won a look of bemusement from Freddie. "Pleased to finally meet you doctor Logan," she said and he took her hand and shook it, his grip was light but firm.

"Indeed, Freddie has told me so much about you," he said cordially. He rubbed his hands together and shivered. "It's beautiful but bitter out here. Won't you both please come inside? You look like you could do with a stiff drink."

"I'll say," Freddie replied. And with that Logan clapped his hand on Freddie's shoulder and ushered them both towards the front door.

"You found the place alright?" He asked Freddie as they entered the warm cottage.

"Yes, no problem," he replied. "Your directions were spot on."

Libby followed them inside a couple of steps behind. She was taken a back slightly when she realised she was suddenly the fifth wheel here and had to fight the urge to cut in on their conversation to somehow validate why she was here with Freddie. And it was a feeling she didn't much care for. She told herself to stop being so stupid. Freddie and Logan although weren't exactly old friends knew each other and to a certain extent felt comfortable together. All three of them might be united by a common cause, but at that moment she just felt like Freddie's other half.

She wanted to tell Logan she was the strong one, she was the reason they were here, that Freddie wanted to bail on the whole thing, but she had been the one to coax him around. _Stupid_ , she chastised herself again. She had nothing to prove to a man she had just met. Sure, he may well turn out to be the most important man she had ever met but that didn't mean she had to vie for his attention like some over looked employee.

Logan led them through into a large warm farmhouse kitchen which smelt of wood burning and the strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He gestured for them to sit at the big oak table that dominated the room. "Please, take a seat," he told them and began to search through a cupboard. "Coffee should be ready, timed it to perfection. Arh, there you are," he said and produced a bottle of whiskey from the back of the cupboard. He held it up for their approval. "A little sweetener?" He asked with a wicked grin.

"Oh, sounds good," Freddie replied and sat down next to Libby.

"Yes please," Libby replied and rubbed her knees nervously with her hands. She was torn between wanting to get all these pleasantries out of the way and get down to business and half enjoying the dotty old man's manner. She imagined he would be able to go on indefinitely dancing around the subject of why they were all here, not to mention what had happened to their families and she couldn't blame him. She found herself scanning the kitchen looking for any clue as to where the old man might have the virus, if it was in here at all. There was an oak chest of draws over at the other side of the room next to the Arga. No surely not in there, the fridge maybe. Didn't you keep drugs and the like in fridges and freezers?

Logan took his time pouring first the coffee then a healthy shot of whiskey into three mugs. "Milk, sugar?" He asked as he put their mugs on the table in front of them. Libby took her mug in both hands and breathed in the intoxicating smell of coffee and whiskey.

"I'm good thanks," she said and took a sip. She exhaled and felt a warm glow as the liquid slip down her throat. It was stronger than she had anticipated but felt good.

Freddie did the same and whistled out loud as he took a second sip. "Now that's a cup of coffee."

"I'm glad you approve," Logan said with a smile. He held his own mug and looked down into it and the smile slid from his face. "Look," he said gravely. "What's happened... With your families. I don't know, I don't know what to say." He shrugged guiltily and gave them a shake of the head. "I promise you I don't know how this has happened. From my end everything went so smoothly." He told them.

"Are you sure no one saw you?" Libby asked him and took another sip, she put the mug down onto the table and decided that was enough, the whiskey and the warmth coming from the wood burning Arga were already combining to cloud her thoughts.

"No, I walked straight out of the Lab, bold as brass. It couldn't have gone smoother."

Still he looked a little uncertain to Libby. "Doctor," she said firmly. "Are you sure?" She had to press the point. If it wasn't Logan then who did that leave? Freddie? Paul? Had the police really tapped his phone as a matter of course like Dennis had said? "When you called Freddie to tell him you had the virus. Where did you call from?"

Logan thought for a moment. "A public phone. I may be new to all this sub defuse Libby, but I flatter myself I have more sense than to call from the lab, or my home phone."

"Don't they have CCTV up at Ventrex? In the labs I mean?" She pressed. "Could have been they caught you on it when they checked the tapes."

"That would mean they knew I took the virus," Logan countered. "But they couldn't. Everything went exactly as I'd planned. I switched the real vial for a dummy one, then left as normal after the end of the day."

"Have you been back since?" Freddie asked and took a long drink of coffee, he made a face and Libby decided then and there that she would be the one driving back. Drink driving is one thing, but when one of your passengers is a weapon of mass destruction that bordered on lunacy.

"No," Logan relented with some reluctance. "But that wouldn't be seen as unusual. We don't keep regular hours there and can come and go as we please." He added defensively. Logan raised the mug up to his lips but then seemed to think better of it and put the mug back on the work surface which he leaned his backside against. He was looking more and more uncomfortable to Libby, not guilty as such just that he clearly hadn't been expecting to be interrogated like this.

"What about this place?" She said a little too harshly.

"However it happened, the police have somehow connected Freddie and me to the theft. We we're worried this place might be a police station when we arrived."

Logan shook his head. "No, not a chance," he said adamantly. "Even if somehow they did know I had taken the virus, there is no way they can connect this place to me. I rented it under a false name weeks ago. I paid cash for it. Like I said. I'm not a complete idiot."

"No one's saying that, doc." Freddie said. "We're just trying to figure out what's happened here. It's our families for Christ sake."

Logan held out his hands defensively. "Fair enough," he said softly. "I completely understand. You must be going through hell, both of you."

Libby studied the old man as he spoke. She was no body language expert but he seemed to be genuinely upset at the situation, so much so that she felt a pang of remorse at the way she had been questioning him. He thought long and hard before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry to say it, but could it have been someone at your side of things?" He frowned contritely once he'd said it and gave them both an apologetic look.

Freddie exhaled sharply and sat back in his seat. "Doc, before you took the virus, none of us had any idea you were even thinking about taking the thing. Christ, when you first called I thought you had, I dunno, smuggled out some documentation or something. Not the thing itself!"

Logan nodded. "Looking back, I should have told you," he admitted. "But the truth was, I was afraid you might try to talk me out of it."

Freddie drained the last of his coffee, the alcohol had made his cheeks go bright red and his eyes were sparking now. "Truth is doc," he said and gave Libby a look. "I would have."

She gave him a reassuring smile. All this was a moot point now anyway Libby thought, regardless of how the police found out, and her guess was through their phones, or even their homes. If somehow they had a tip off or even if it was just routine surveillance. The truth of it was they had tied in her and Freddie to the theft. Logan hadn't been back to the lab or to his home since he took it, otherwise he would probably been arrested to.

"In the end, it's irrelevant, for now, how they found out," she told them. "The fact is they did, but thank Christ, whether by luck or judgment they didn't get us before we got here." Both men nodded their agreement. Libby's money was on dumb luck, but she was more than happy to take that for a shot at exposing what was happening at Ventrex. And as was becoming more and more important as things progressed, their best chance of staying out of jail.

"Fate," Logan said almost to himself as a haunted look crossed his face. Then he rubbed his face with his hands and shook it off. "Whatever it was, please know I'm so sorry about what had happened to your loved ones."

"It's going to be okay," Libby told him but it was as much for herself and Freddie than Logan. "Especially once we go public with all this. The facts are, cold as it may seem. They have our families, but it changes nothing." She said firmly.

Logan looked genuinely surprised at this. "God, are you sure?"

"We have to stay focus on the task at hand." She said and took a another sip of her coffee, the alcohol in it help melt away any lingering doubt, it felt so good that she immediately took another drink. "Truth is they would have found out soon enough anyway, after the rally. We just have to stick to the plan. Get there without getting spotted."

"If they let it go ahead," Freddie said.

That was a distinct possibility Libby knew, if they had connected herself and Freddie, then they had to suspect Paul was somehow involved. Even with his new polished political image. It would be a well-known fact to the police that they had all been part of the same group back in the day. And now that she really thought about it they might very well shut down the rally, they would probably dress it up as a health and safety issue, but they couldn't risk it going ahead.

But then it hit her, when it boiled down to it, it was just possible that the police were as much in the dark about what they were doing as she was about how much the police actually knew.

Wasn't it was all just conjecture anyway? And on both sides? They didn't know exactly what the authorities did or did not know. It was entirely possible they only had a vague inclining what was going on, especially if Logan was right about how well taking the virus went. That, and no doubt the alcohol coursing through her veins gave Libby cause for optimism and it seemed like forever that she had felt that.

"Well if they don't let it go ahead," she told them. "Then we'll just have to come up with something else. Go straight to the media, they'll be falling all over themselves once this gets out. Y'know, maybe we don't need Paul at all." Yes she liked the sound of that, but judging from Freddie face he didn't.

"We promised him," he said.

"Not that I recall," Libby replied harshly.

"Let's just stick to the plan," Freddie said. "Until we know for sure that the rally is either off or crawling with police, I say we need Paul. He's had experience..." His voice fell away. None of them had any experience of anything like this and he knew it.

A heavy silence fell over them as this sunk in. Too much thinking about all the variables was likely to tie them all in knots. Libby suddenly, inexplicably wished she could be more like Dennis, act first think later. She had to smile, that was as scary a thought as taking possession of the virus.

It was Logan who broke the spell. "Look, I know things look bad, but the way I see it, the authorities can't actually prove anything. Up to now you haven't actually done anything wrong. You need to think about what that means." He paused letting his words sink in. Libby had an inkling what he was going to say next and was surprised to find herself wishing he would. "It may be too late for me, I have the virus, and there's no way I'm going to give it back. Even if I wanted to... But the two of you can still back out if you want. There's no need for you to ruin your lives. God knows I wouldn't blame you."

Libby waited for Freddie to jump in and put the old man's mind at rest. Of course there was no way, now that they were so close, that they would back out now. Libby for one would never forgive herself. She turned to Freddie who was already looking at her, he glanced down at the table the instant their eyes met. Even now, if she said the word he would turn his back on all this. She had to bite back the rage that was welling up inside her. Weak, so God damned weak.

She reached for her coffee mug for no other reason than to give herself a moment before replying, and was shocked to see that she had downed the lot. That was stupid, she chided herself, she had let herself be seduced by the numbing effect of the alcohol at a time when she needed every one of her faculties intact.

She looked up at Logan who gave her a warm smile. She needed to put this to bed once and for all, even if it meant Freddie falling by the wayside then so be it. She was here and even though she had only just met Logan she had the feeling he already knew where the true power laid between her and Freddie.

Libby met his gaze firmly and willed her voice to stay strong. "We're in doc', no matter what happens." She had to concentrate on not sighing out loud with relieve at just how strong her voice had sounded. She turned her head to Freddie who was still studying the table top. "Right Freddie?"

He almost jumped and looked up at her then across to Logan. If her voice was as strong as her resolve, then his was as weak as his. "Of course," he croaked.

Libby waited for him to say more but he fell silent again, she could tell Logan was as unconvinced as Freddie sounded. "Fact is," she said. "We're terrorists in the eyes of the police now, or will be soon enough. They have our families, but they don't have us. There's no turning back now."

"Even if we wanted to," Freddie added softly. Logan exhaled at this and frowned.

"We're grown-ups doctor Logan," she told him.

He raised an eye brow at this. "Barely," he replied. "Or perhaps it's just me who's old." He reflected ruefully.

Freddie sat up all of a sudden with a look of queasy resolve on his face, he looked ill to Libby but after he cleared his throat his voice was surprisingly strong. "We know what we are getting ourselves into, doc," he said. "This is history what we are doing here." He shrugged with resignation. "No one said it was meant to be easy."

Logan nodded gravely at this, "Well alright, if you are sure." He moved over to the fridge and Libby tensed as he opened the door, reached inside and carefully brought out a small metal box that was just a little bigger than a Rubix cube. Freddie straightened as he brought it over to the table and sat down opposite them he placed the container in front of himself and Libby saw a faint look of amusement flit momentarily across his face seeing their reactions to the box.

Libby held her breath and reached out for Freddie's hand, he took hers and squeezed it hard. Despite the warmth of the room his hand was icy cold and touching it sent a shiver up Libby's spine. Of course it could have been the weapon of mass destruction sitting just a couple of feet away that chilled her to the bone.

"Well?" Logan said and slid the box across the table towards them. "Isn't anybody going to open it?"

Libby had to wrench her hand free of Freddie's. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. All of a sudden she was terrified, seeing it there right in front of her suddenly made it all too real. She raised her hands up and placed them palm down on the table to stop them shaking, just inches from the box.

"I can't," she said weakly.

"Don't worry," Logan told her. "I can assure you it's quite safe. We keep the virus in the container whenever it's out of storage." He leaned across and snapped opened the metal clasp on the lid, in the pin drop silence that had descended over the room it sounded like a gunshot. Libby felt Freddie jump ever so slightly next to her and she almost screamed. The tension was palpable as Logan moved away from the box without opening the lid. "Go on, Libby." He said. "It isn't much use to you locked away in that box, besides you should both really get used to handling it. Come on it won't bite."

No, just kill half the world's population, Libby thought. But he was right, sooner or later they would have to take it out of the box although she couldn't imagine ever getting used to handling it. It felt so absurd, sitting her in this quaint little holiday cottage staring like a frightened child at the Pandora's box there right in front of her.

Fuck it! Libby she told herself, this is what you wanted, this is what you get. No turning back, besides she mused, short of dropping the fucking thing what could possibly go wrong. She realised by the look both Logan and Freddie were giving her that she must be smiling. He shook her head in disbelief and gingerly picked up the box. Despite its size Libby was surprised, and reassured, at just how heavy the thing was.

She gently weighed it in her hands and blew a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes away. She couldn't help but grin, with both Logan and Freddie literally on the edge of their seats waiting for her to flip open the lib she had an insane urge to pretend to drop the thing just to see them hit the roof, she was pretty sure Freddie for one would piss his pants right then and there. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"That's a very unnerving grin, Libby," Logan said softly.

She smiled to herself then before she could change her mind Libby opened the lip with her thumbs. And there it was, nestled in a spongy bed of what looked like the foam you get in sofa pillows. A small vial filled with an innocent enough looking clear liquid, it reminded Libby of the sort you would see in a doctor's surgery filled with penicillin. But that was where the similarity ended. Penicillin was meant to heal. This one was born for the exact opposite. It looked so banal she felt she should have been a little disappointed, there was no clap of thunder to herald its unveiling, the room didn't darken or become deathly cold. But what had she expected?

"Go on," Logan urged. "You can take it out."

Libby gingerly took out the vial with her thumb and fore finger and gently eased it out of its protective foam bed. "Looks so... I don't know what I was expecting it to look like, kind of... I dunno." It sounded stupid now as she looked at the clear liquid. "Just expected it to look..."

"Dangerous," Freddie finished for her, with a tone in his voice something akin to awe.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I know," Logan chortled. "But believe me it is dangerous. Beyond what you could ever imagine. But at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, evil can be, let's face it. Very banal at times.

_Evil_. Libby mused as she held the vial up to the light.

"Jesus," Freddie uttered. "Stupid question, but just how strong is that bottle? It's not glass is it?" He asked nervously.

"No, no," Logan replied. "The closest thing you'll know is perplex, it's a kind of specially developed plastic. Not my area of expertise, I'm afraid," he admit. "But trust me its more than strong enough. You open it with a special gizmo. But to be quite honest a pair of decent pliers will do the trick just as well. Still its best kept in the box when moving it around."

***

Libby squeezed the vial ever so slightly her heart pounding in her chest. "Is it shatter proof?" She asked and turned the vial this way and that so the liquid sloshed around inside.

"Up to a point. But I wouldn't go throwing it around or anything." A faint smile played across his lips. "I dropped one once, it didn't break, but two of the other scientists in the room had minor heart attacks. And my lab technician, Carl, screamed like a girl. Or to be fair that might have been me."

"Shit," Freddie said. "Don't blame you."

Libby passed the vial over to him. He looked at it for a full ten seconds before tentatively taking it in an alarmingly shaky hand. The instant he did, Libby felt better being rid of it. There were something's in life you just weren't meant to have in your hands. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jean legs again and finally felt able to breathe again.

Freddie put the vial back into the box and shut the lid and gently snapped the catch shut. He exhaled with palpable relief. "I can't imagine ever getting used to holding something like that."

"You would be surprised," Logan said. "It looks so dammed harmless, it's amazing how quickly you can forget just what it can do. It's as though..." His face grew grave for a moment as he looked at the box. "It's as though it lulls you into a false sense of security. Yes she can be a tricky girl that one."

_Girl?_ Strange use of words Libby thought as she watched Logan stare at the box with an almost parental look on his face. He seemed to drift off somewhere within himself, it was as if he was mesmerized by his awful creation even though it was now safely out of sight. His _girl_ as he had so strangely put it.

Logan suddenly became aware of Libby and Freddie who were both watching him as he stared at the box, he have a short sharp laugh and shook his head. "Sorry about that," he said in a disarming manner and got to his feet and collected up their mugs. "You both look like you could use another coffee, with a healthy shot of sweetener of course."

Tempting as that sounded Libby knew better than to have any more alcohol. "Just coffee for me please, you know what with driving, and the whole carrying around a weapon of mass destruction." She couldn't help but notice Logan gave the slightest frown when she called it a weapon of mass destruction. Could it be that even now he didn't really comprehend just what he had created? The thought made her angry.

"Well if Libby is volunteering to drive, I think I could do with another," Freddie said and glanced at Libby who raised her eyebrows. "Well, maybe just a little sweetener in mine," he added suitably cowed.

"As you wish," Logan said with his back to them as he busily poured them all another drink.

"Is there anymore of this crap, up at Ventrex?" Libby asked as Logan returned to the table with their drinks, again he frowned at her choice of words, which she had deliberately chosen as she knew it would get his goat, Logan sat opposite them once more.

"There are two more vials like this one," he replied and tapped the box gently with his finger-tips. "If all goes well, we'll have to make damned sure they destroy those to. Just one of these little puppies is enough to cause global devastation."

His tone was so coolly indifferent, as if he was talking about a new kind of headache tablet that Libby had to bite her lip to stop herself from exploding. She could feel the anger welling up inside her. You created these _little puppies_ , she thought. You created about as lethal a substance as it was possible to make, if Freddie's boasts were anything to go by, a global killer in an innocent looking bottle and it was right there in front of her. By rights it should be locked up somewhere safe. Christ, she thought contemptuously, by rights it should never have been made at all! Libby wrapped her arms around herself, despite the heat she was shaking now. She told herself to stay calm but realised she was grinding her teeth.

"Yes, I'm afraid we made this thing a little too well," Logan added with a rueful smile.

Calm, Libby told herself over and over. Calm.

"It's the way it replicates, right doc?" Freddie asked.

Logan nodded and took a sip of coffee which made him grimace slightly at its strength, he had put so much whiskey in his that Libby could smell it from where she was seated. "That's right, God, even we were shocked at just how rapidly it adapts and replicates in any environment," he reflected, gazing at the box.

Just a stupid bunch of over grown boys playing with a fucking chemistry set who had accidently created a monster. _'Oops, sorry, look what we've done. Better not get any on your clothes or it'll burn the skin right off your fucking face.'_ Libby gripped her arms so tightly that it hurt. She felt like she could explode at any moment and that just made it worse. She knew that if she didn't get out of the oppressive atmosphere that had built up in the room since Logan had so nonchalantly unveiled his pride and fucking joy, that she was likely to ram the thing down his throat.

Logan carried on oblivious to Libby's growing rage which just made her blood boil all the more. "To be honest, that's the main reason for all this," he said. "It quite simply got out of our control. If just a few drops of this get into the eco-system, it can't be stopped." He paused thinking about that and smiled. "It's perfect really."

That was it, Libby exploded, she slapped her fist on the table so hard she thought she had broken every bone in it, pain shot up her arm, but it just fuelled her fury all the more. Both Logan and Freddie jumped a mile and stared at her opened mouthed.

"For Christ's sake," she shouted at him. "What were you people thinking?" They probably had a dozen PHD's each but not a brain cell between them. "Fucking Scientists, isn't there enough ways in the world to kill people already, without you idiots creating this shit?"

Freddie stared at her in shock and disbelief, he had spent the whole time fawning all over Logan and had probably thought she felt the same. "Libby!" He said feebly. "The doc's on our side, remember?" He reached out to touch her but she pulled away. "He's risking everything to help put a stop to this."

"I know!" She snapped back at him, but if he hadn't created this abomination in the first place, playing around up at Ventrex with his chemistry geek pals. Then there wouldn't be any need to put a stop to anything. She could be at home now, with her family, not sat here in this sweat shop with a WMD on the table in front of her. She breathed through gritted teeth, she was seething. She looked at Freddie with what must have been something akin to hate judging by the look on his face.

"Libby," he said.

"I know, I know," she replied begrudgingly. It was frightening how easily she would have found it to grab the box and leave the pair of them here. "But for Christ's sake, this is insane!" She pushed the box away from her a little harder than she had meant to, Freddie winced as it slip half way across the table. "That thing could kill everything on the planet. What if it gets out?" Her heart was beating a mile a minute. Had she really just shoved a WMD? Box or no box?

"It won't," Freddie replied.

"But what if it does?" She demanded, fighting back tears.

Logan leant across the table and gently took her hand, she was about to pull away when she caught sight of the look in his clear blue eyes. He was impressed. "All the more reason to put an end to this."

Libby stopped, she was fair panting at the exertion of her outburst, just seeing the admiration it had awoken in Logan made her rage fade away nearly as quickly as it had over taken her. Before she knew what she was saying she said; "I'm, I'm sorry."

Logan shook his head ever so slightly and squeezed her hand. "No, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Libby," he fixed her with an almost hypnotic stare, it was part paternal pride, part guilt and it broke her heart to see it. "I created it, I'm responsible for all this madness, I accept that and believe me it grieves me more than you can ever imagine. But in my defence, and as unlikely as it may sound, this whole sorry mess started because we were trying to prevent biological and chemical weapons being able to be used."

He let go of Libby's hand and sat back in his chair and gave a melancholy sigh that was so raw Libby's breath caught in her throat to hear it. Logan took a few moments to let the tension in the room fade away before he continued.

"We were working on a type of universal antidote," he explained. "For the biological and chemical weapons that we already knew about." He frowned. "It just so happened that in the process of our work, we ended up creating something far, far worse. I would call it ironic, if it wasn't so heart breaking." He had to stop for a moment and swallowed hard.

It was clear to Libby that he was really struggling with what he had done and she was suddenly ashamed for her outburst. She rubbed her hand while she waited for him to continue, the action made her winced, it was already starting to bruise.

"Even we couldn't control it," Logan continued, his voice was so soft that Libby found herself leaning forward to listen like a child enthralled in a fairy tale. "God knows, we should have pulled the plug then and there...But," he struggled to find the right words and a look of frustration flashed across his face.

"Go on," Freddie said and Libby saw that he too was leaning forwards transfixed by the old man.

"It's hard to explain, it seems so stupid, so dangerously stupid now," Logan said. "It was like, like we were all blinded by the sheer raw power of this thing that we had created. It became so we just couldn't stop, perhaps even if we had wanted to. Not that we did." He looked at Libby with the eyes of a man haunted by shame. "You're right to be angry, Libby. I'm under no illusions what I am and what I've done. But if, in some small way, I can somehow make amends for all this, then whatever happens to me after the world finds out will be more than worth it. Jail, death even, it would seem like sweet redemption to an old fool like me."

Libby leaned further forwards and held her arms across the table to the doctor, he took her hands in his own, they were shaking. "Look, doc, I'm sorry for what I said. I know you have given up so much, everything." She nodded towards the box. "But it's just that, that thing just out right scares the hell out of me." She thought for a moment. "And I guess, when it boils down to it, I'm more used to fighting people like you, not helping. I have no right to judge."

"No, Libby don't you see?" Logan said insistently. "That's just it. You have every right to judge me for what I have done, you both do. Quite frankly it's about time someone held us all accountable for what we were doing at Ventrex." He shuddered and Libby felt a chill despite the warmth of the room, as she wondered what other horrors they had locked away up there.

Freddie rested a hand on Libby and Logan's. "Don't worry doc, once this gets out, we'll make believers out of everyone.

"I hope so," Logan told him and turned back to Libby. "You keep that fire in you, Libby, it does you great credit."

"Thanks," Libby said with an embarrassed shrug and felt her cheeks flush.

Logan patted both Freddie's and her hands and got to his feet with a groan. He arched his back and winced as it cracked alarmingly. "Oooph, old age and poverty," he said.

"You okay doc?" Freddie asked.

"Oh, yes," Logan replied dismissively. "Just getting old, that's all. It comes to us all."

_Let's hope so,_ Libby found herself thinking as she eyed the box.

Freddie checked his watch and Libby could see it was already threatening to get dark outside. "Sorry doc, but we really need to get going if we are going to make the rally," he said and pushed himself up from the table.

"Of course," Logan replied. He gestured to the box. "Which one of you wants this?" He asked as if it were a box of travel mints for the road.

Freddie made a face and turned to Libby.

"I'm driving," she told him as she stood. "I haven't had as much sweetener as you."

"That's right," Freddie replied looking queasy. "You shouldn't drink and drive. But what about handing a WMD while under the influence?"

That was a good point Libby had to admit.

"Don't worry," Freddie finally said with a faint smile. "I sobered up the second you shoved the thing half way across the table just now.

Libby couldn't help but give a nervous laugh at this. "Yeah," she conceded rubbing the back of her neck. "I did that, didn't I?"

"Yes you did," Freddie said and handed Libby the car keys. Then he gingerly picked up the box.

"Can you imagine the irony?" Logan said. "If the thing had escape here at the very place where we had gathered to put an end to it?" He grimaced theatrically then became to search through his pockets for something. "Erm, look, I don't know what you two think." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "But, erm, I have written down a few words. For tonight. He smiled awkwardly. "If you don't mind?"

Logan handed the paper to Freddie who smoothed it out before reading it.

Libby fiddled with the car keys in her hands as he read it. "Doctor, are you sure you won't come with us?"

"Arh, no," the old man replied meekly. "I still have a lot to do here, preparing things for when... You know, for after." He turned to Freddie who had just finished reading the letter. "Look, Fred, if you don't thing that is appropriate..."

"God, no doc," Freddie replied genuinely moved by what he had just read. He carefully folded the letter up and put it in his back pocket. "It's really good, and very appropriate. I would be honoured to read this at the rally tonight."

"Oh, thank you," Logan said bashfully, he gestured to the door and lead them out through the hall and outside.

Libby gasped as the cold evening air hit her face, accentuated by the warmth of the kitchen it made her head spin.

"Winter's closing in," Logan said rubbing his hands together.

He turned to Libby who without thinking stepped forwards and embraced the doctor surprising herself just as much as him. "Thanks for everything, Doctor Logan," she said and kissed his cheek, despite what he had said, she still felt guilty for her outburst in there.

"No, thank you," he replied and held her at arm's length. "Freddie... No, the world is very lucky to have you at the fore front of all this. I can't remember when I have ever seen such strength in someone." He nodded to the box Freddie was clutching tightly on both hands. "My baby is in good hands," he added oddly but Libby shook it off.

"Thanks, she stepped away and moved over towards the car as Freddie approached Logan like a zealot moving to receive the Pope's blessing before going off into battle. Libby watched them as Logan embraced him.

"Well, I guess this is it doc," Freddie said as Logan let him go and Libby could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes.

Logan's definitely did. "I'll look for you on the news," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. And Libby felt tears coming to her own eyes. She blinked them away, that last thing she needed was a sob fest, with so much still left to do. "Scared?" Logan asked Freddie, and Libby almost replied yes.

"Terrified," Freddie replied with a faint smile and averted his eyes.

"You'll do fine," Logan told him reassuringly. "Look Freddie, whatever happens... After. I just want you to know that I'm very proud of you." He glanced at his feet for a second. "But I have to be honest," he continued and looked Freddie firmly in the yes again. "I wasn't sure you would be able to go through with this. It seems stupid now, but I think it's only fair to say it. And I am so glad I was wrong."

Freddie gave him a self genuinely self-deprecating smile.

"Christ, doc, don't be sorry about that. Truth be told, I've been changing my mind every five minutes, since you told me about what you had done," he admitted. Freddie turned to Libby. "All I can say is thank God for Libby. Without her I wouldn't be here, without her I would have run a mile."

"Yes, you've struck gold there my friend," Logan said.

"Too right," Libby replied which at least elicited a laugh from the grim faced trio.

"Look, doc," Freddie said. "Whatever happens, I'd just like to say, it's been an honour. I can't think why you chose me, but I'll always be grateful that you did, you've quite literally changed my life over these past few months. And I promise you, I won't let you down."

Logan looked uncomfortable at this. "Oh, Freddie, please. The honour is all mine. You are risking everything to help me find redemption, to make amends for that abomination in your hands. This is a great day, and I'm just glad to be able to be part of something good for a change."

"I'll see you soon," Freddie told him and they embraced one last time and then Freddie joined Libby by the car.

"God's speed," Logan called out with a wave.

Libby waved back and then slipped into the driver's seat. It took her three attempts to get the key in the ignition her hand was shaking so much. Freddie got in beside her and shut the door. He rested the box on his lap and looked across at her and exhaled.

"Put you seatbelt on," she told him. "Safety first."

He laughed humourlessly and reached across and put on his seat belt, then sat staring straight ahead. "Ready," he said in a weak voice.

Libby fired up the engine and glanced out the side window for one last look at Logan who waved. Ready? She wondered. But for what? Freddie gripped the box tightly in both hands as she gently pulled away, her knuckles showed white as she held onto steering wheel for dear life and swung the car around and stared up the hill. She flicked on the head lights as the sky was starting to darken. It was a two hour drive back to civilisation and a date with destiny. "Best texted Dennis," she told Freddie. "Tell him we're on our way." She glanced into the rear view mirror as the cottage disappeared out of view. "Tell him we've got it."

God help us.

BATTER UP

The weight of the heavy wooden chair felt good in Harper's hands, he lifted it and took a couple of practise swings. In life there are certain things you only get one shot at, better practice while time and consciousness allowed.

Later, (if there was to be a later) if someone had asked him how he had gotten to his feet let alone made it across to the table where he had found the chair. Peter Harper wouldn't have been able to tell them. One minute he was drowning in darkness, the next he was up and about, God only knew how, but here he was, ready for one last gargantuan effort before unconsciousness, and with it probably death, took hold again.

But having said that, Harper had to admit that death just didn't hold the same fear it had used to. After all if he counted up the times over the last couple of days that he should have my rights shuffled off this mortal coil he might actually have started to believe he truly was indeed Harper the immortal. And so once again he was about to put that to the test, tempt fate one last time and see what happened.

Harper swung the chair once more, but over extended himself this time and almost lost his balance, he clattered hard into the table and felt a sharp stab of pain in his hip, he bite back a curse and almost fell flat on his face. He leaned against the chair and took a couple of breaths, his head was full of cotton wool and he could barely keep upright, and although the blood was rushing through his ears in a deafening roar he knew all this banging and clattering around would alert Logan to the fact that he was back from the dead (again) and wandering around. Maybe those idiot eco-warriors Logan had coming would hear him. That would put a dampener on the old man's plans.

Using the chair like a Zimmer frame, Harper made his way unsteadily over to the door, he rested his forehead against it, listening as best he could above the torrent in his ears. He could hear voices and then the far off sound of a car engine. Were they coming or going? He concentrated but it was impossible to tell.

Time shifted then as he stood there and for all he knew, Harper may have passed out standing there because he suddenly jolted at the sound of keys in the door's lock, he staggered a couple of paces back and raised the chair like a baseball player and waited, then out of nowhere he almost laughed out loud, he had a sudden mental picture of what he must look like, head half shot away, welding a chair, if nothing else he would have the element of surprise on whom ever came through the door. It seemed to take an age for the door to open but when it finally did, Logan was there in the doorway concentrating on the keys in his hands and too distracted to notice Harper straight away.

"You know, you never cease..." Logan began but the words caught in his throat as he finally looked up to see Harper standing there. If the old man's face was a picture, then it was one painted by a lunatic, a demented study in shock and terror and utter disbelief. _'Surprise mother fucker'._

Harper was so caught up in the moment he almost forgot to attack. Finally he remembered and swung the chair, just like he had practiced and it hit Logan hard in his astonished face. The old man's head snapped back violently at the impact which sent him staggering backwards and into the hallway. He hit the far wall hard with his back, which seemed to knock what little wind he had left out of him. Logan slid down onto his backside as his legs gave way, his eyes rolling back in his head and blood began pumping from his nose and busted lip.

Harper dropped the chair and stumbled out into the hallway. He edged past Logan who slumped forwards and for a moment Harper thought he may have killed the old bastard. He paused and heard Logan groan and then he began to fit and start as he sat there as if someone was passing an electric current though his body, the groan turned to a guttural gargling sound and his head lolled forwards and Harper had to fight the urge to kick him in the face.

_Come on,_ he urged himself on, _time enough for that later. Got to get out, got to warn those Eco fools that Logan couldn't be trusted._ He turned and lurched off down the corridor and over to the front door, pin balling off the walls as he went like a Saturday night drunkard. Cold air hit his face as he reached the door which was still slightly ajar, Harper wrenched it all the way open and half ran half fell outside and into the chilly evening beyond.

Too late! Harper realised with despair, he fell to his knees gasping for breath as he watched helplessly as the car disappeared over the brow of the hill and away. "Fuck it!" He screamed. So close, so God damned close. "Fuck it," the icy air stung his chest as he gulped in lungful's of it. Then in an instant he felt as weak as a babe, he let out a sob as he pitched forwards, just managing to break his fall with his arms before he smashed his face against the frozen ground.

Harper just felt numb now, and as he lay there he felt almost content. He wasn't in pain anymore; he wasn't even that cold come to think of it. If anything he just had to close his eyes and he would have happily drifted off to sleep. It would have been so easy just to lay there until he froze. But then there was that voice again in the back of his mind, that nagging little voice that that been there all through this, ready to scold him into action when he just wanted to lay down and die.

And didn't he deserve to be allowed to do that? After all, he had done so much already, more than enough for a man who had been shot in the head. Half suffocated with ether and yet had still managed to escape the mad doctor Logan, and beat the bastard's brains out while he did it. But no. _Gotta keep going,_ the voice said, _just a little while longer, then you can sleep, you are so close to the end now and that's no time to give up._ It urged him, and he knew he couldn't give up just yet even though he so desperately wanted to do so.

"Damn it," he spat and moved his head to look down the side of the cottage. Logan's car was still parked there. If he could drag his arse up just one more time, find Logan's car keys, then he just might be able to catch those Eco-idiots before they got back to civilisation. And if they were are well meaning as Logan had said, then he just might be able to stop this lunacy before it began. They might not know what Logan was really like, but one look at Harper would be more than enough to make them re-evaluate the old bastard's intentions. _If_ he could, but just right now, _if_ was a big fucking word.

Harper pushed himself up with what little strength he had left, more than anything to see just how much energy he actually had and to his surprise he was on his knees before he knew it, not bad. He took a breath and then got unsteadily to his feet. He was alarmed to see a pool of dark blood on the frosted ground where his head had been laid; it was a shocking red against the white dusting of frost. Best not dwell on that, he told himself and turned away and staggered back over to the cottage.

Once back inside he saw Logan still slumped on the floor where he had left him. He'd have the keys on him, and it wouldn't hurt to get a hold of that gun, and the wonder pills. Harper lent his left shoulder against the wall and shuffled his way down towards the old man.

He was half way down when Logan lifted his head and turned to looked over to him in a daze. Harper froze and for a long moment Logan didn't seemed to know where he was and what had happened, his face crumpled with uncertainty. Then a flash of terror came over Logan and he awkwardly reached inside his blood spattered jacket. Gun.

Harper pitched himself forwards but before he could get five feet his head exploded in pain and his vision bleached out white. Harper screamed, it felt like someone had let off a hand grenade inside his skull and before he knew what had happened he was on his knees holding his head in his hands like he was afraid it was going to come apart if he didn't. Then the deafening tinnitus kicked him with a vengeance.

"Jesus!" He screamed clawed at the bandaged in desperation. "Jesus Christ!" His vision cleared for a moment and he could see he was only feet from Logan, who was having trouble getting the gun out of his inside jacket pocket, it's barrel seemed to be caught in the lining. Logan's eyes widen in terror seeing Harper so close and he grimaced at his own injuries while desperately fighting to free the gun.

"You fucker!" Harper screamed and dragged himself to his feet. His blind rage burning away the shattering pain in his ruined head. Logan freed the gun, but it was too late, Harper kicked him in the ribs with all his might, Logan cried out and Harper kicked him again. The pistol fell onto the floor by Harper right foot and he back heeled it away sending it sliding down to the other end of the hallway and well out of Logan's reach.

The old man put up his arms in a vain attempt to shield himself against Harper's onslaught but it did next to no use as he continued to rain kicks and punches down on him. The pain in Harper's head was beyond anything he had ever felt before, burning white hot like someone had injected it with napalm. But it just spurred him on all the more to kick Logan half to death with every ounce of energy he had left. If he was going to die now, then he would die fighting. "I'll fucking kill you!" He screamed down at Logan. Finally he caught Logan with a kick right in his battered forehead and the old Man's head slammed hard into the wall, so hard he keeled over to one side. Unconscious or dead, Harper didn't care.

"Oh, Christ," he uttered breathlessly and fell to his knees next to Logan. He began to desperately fumble in his pockets looking for the tablets like a junkie mugging his dealer. He yelped in relief as his fingers found something metallic and he pulled out a small hexagonal pill case, he fumbled with the catch and after what seemed like an age he finally got it open, half the pills fell onto the floor but he got a handful and gratefully swallowed one. "Oh, thank Christ," he said and lent against the wall next to Logan's prone body and waited for the pills to take effect.

What seemed like hours later, but must only have been a minute or two, Harper slowly felt the pain begin to melt deliciously away as the morphine of whatever the wonder pills were kicked in and gradually the fire in his brain and the accompanying tinnitus gave way to a wonderful foggy haze.

He lazily looked back down the hallway which seemed to stretch on forever and could just about make out the pistol laid on the floor by the door shimmering in the gloom. He smiled and began to crawl on his hands and knees like a baby until he eventually reached it. It took him several attempts to pick the weapon up which was heavier than he had imagined. He turned it over in his hands and marvelled at the way the light glinted off the silver gun metal. "So, beautiful," he said and felt tears come to his eyes. He knew he was tripping on the painkiller but he didn't care, he was alive, and for the first time in forever he was positively ecstatic and not in any pain or torment, and more importantly for the first time since meeting Logan. He was in charge.

Harper floated gracefully to his feet and drifted back down the hallway to where the bloody mess that was the unconscious Doctor Logan was slumped. Harper held his breath and could just about hear Logan breathing shallowly. Yes he was alive, for now. But it was up to Peter Harper now if the good Doctor remained so. He pulled back the slide on the pistol like you see in the movies and it made a sumptuously wicked _'ching'_ sound as it chambered a round. He lowered his hand until he was aiming down at the side of Logan's blood matted head. He didn't need to close one eye to aim, Logan himself had seen to that.

HIDING IN SHADOWS

Crazy Earl had been waiting for a text from Paul telling him the coast was clear when a short and to the point text came through from Libby; _'We have it, it's beautiful, terrifying but beautiful. See you soon x.'_ Short, simple and it chilled him to the bone.

"Christ," Crazy Earl uttered under his breath and read it twice over again just to make sure he wasn't imagining it. _Terrifying, but beautiful._ His hand was shaking so much in the end he had to put the phone back in his pocket before he dropped it.

From where he had positioned himself in the shadows of a classroom doorway, Earl had a good view of the large university campus square and the concert hall entrance where the rally was due to take place. Despite Paul's boasts that there would be hundreds there, Earl had been surprised at the number of people milling about or queuing to get inside. It was as if they knew something amazing was going to happen tonight.

From what he understood, it had started out as a glorified fundraising concert; there were four local bands on and several key note speakers. Normally this sought of thing would have bored him to tears, and he would have spent the whole time fantasising about blowing the whole place up. He had been doing that more and more these days, wherever he was he would scope out the best place to plant a bomb that would bring the roof down. But not tonight, not here. Sure a bomb of sorts was going to be set off tonight, but this one would blow minds not body parts and he just couldn't wait, he was itching to get inside. _Terrifying, but beautiful._

The event was due to kick off at seven, that was less than half an hour from now and there was still a good two dozen people milling around the flood lit square. Earl had been skulking in the shadows for an hour now, and until that text had come through he had been freezing, now he could feel sweat running down his back making the t-shirt under his leather jacket stick to his skin. He moved back into the doorway as two uniformed policemen sauntered across the square, they stopped to talk to two teenage girls who were hanging around by the entrance smoking a cigarette. He squinted across the square, the two policemen had their backs to him but he could tell by the way the girls were laughing and flirting that he had nothing to worry about. Finally the girls stubbed out their cigarette and went back inside the venue. The two policemen wandered off exchanging some joke or other and were soon out of sight.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he almost cried out in surprise, he shook his head and had to smile at himself as he pulled out the phone. It was the text he had been waiting for from Paul; _Dude, stage door around the back, pigs everywhere, keep your head down.'_ "Shite," Dennis pocketed the phone and picked up his ruck sack that was laid by his feet, he hooked it over one shoulder and doing his best to look nonchalant he stepped out of the relative safety of the door, away and into the harsh light of the square.

He had never felt so exposed, it was like all eyes were on him. Earl glanced around nervously at the various people milling about, half expecting any number of them to declare themselves as armed police and stomp his guts out. But no one so much as looked his way. He tried his best to regulate his steps as he strode across the square and over to the side of the concert hall. He knew he would be in full view of the CCTV cameras that were situated over the long line of doors at the entrance, but there was no getting away from it. Earl found himself pulling the collar of his biker jacket like a cartoon spy but just couldn't help himself. There was a narrow gap between two buildings which would give him access to the other side of the hall where the backstage entrance was.

Earl made his way out of the square and into the safety of the dark alleyway between the concert hall and another university building. He allowed himself to breathe a little easier now that he was back out of sight of prying eyes. Then he stopped as he neared the end at the sound of raised voices. His heart quickened and he edged towards the end of the alleyway, he peaked his head around the wall and could see a group of four roadies, luging sound equipment out of a battered old transit van, up a ramp and in through the back stage door.

Paul appeared in the doorway and lit up a cigarette, Earl was amazed at how calm he looked. He had always thought Paul was a bit of a dick, a little too high and mighty for his taste, especially now that he was on the road to local government and after that who knew, Parliament? Earl wouldn't but it past him. Of all the things Paul's personality lacked, self- confidence definitely wasn't one of them.

Some mousy looking woman with a clip board came out through the door and shoved it meekly in his face, Paul glanced down at whatever was written on it and then nodded his apparent approval. The woman seemed to be expecting him to say or do something else but finally she hesitantly went back inside, leaving Paul alone.

Crazy Earl took a tentative step out into the light and Paul immediately turned to look across the yard. Earl waved a little too rigorously, like a school girl greeting her friends at the local disco. He winced at himself and could only imagine the stupid look he must have had on his face. Paul nodded calmly and beckoned him over with a wave of the hand. Earl gave him the thumbs up and set off across the yard and over to where Paul was waiting. All the time telling himself just to be cool, be cool, you're Crazy Earl not some frightened adolescent. He suddenly wished he had taken the time to have a drink to calm his nerves before coming here, but then again, he was one of those drinkers who would set out to drink a little , then keep drinking in an attempt to keep the buzz going until he fell over dead drunk.

So instead he took comfort from the reassuring weight of his backpack and what was in it. That always calmed his nerves. "Hey, man," he said as he jogged up the ramp and over to Paul. The older man gave him a smile and shook his hand. His grip was firm enough but Earl noticed that if anything Paul was sweating as much as he was. It was reassuring to feel. All show Paul, he said to himself, you're just as fucking scared as I am. And now that he was closer he could see just how pale Paul looked under the halogen streetlights.

"Earl, glad you made it," he said and tossed the half smoked cigarette away into the night. His voice sounded paper thin.

"Yeah, you too, mate. You said the place is crawling with police? You think maybe they have gotten wind about what we're doing?"

"Nar," Paul shook his head and raised his fingers to his lips before he realised he didn't have a cigarette in it anymore. He shrugged and gave a humourless chuckle. "It's all good, they came to see me earlier, but it was just security shit, you know? To make sure I keep a lid on things. Stupid bastards wanted to put a couple of coppers on the door! Can you believe that? They reckoned they were going to search everyone coming in, but that damn near caused a riot when we opened the doors."

"I saw a couple of them out front," Earl told him.

"It's purely for show," Paul said. "They don't suspect anything."

The certainty in Paul's voice warmed Earl like a shot of vodka. "Nice one. So they didn't was anything about the virus?" He glanced around furtively and whispered the word virus, and instantly regretted doing so.

"Nope, it's all good." Paul glanced back inside at the sound of cheering. "First bands due on," he said. "Have you heard from Libby and Fred? Did everything go okay?"

_It's terrifying, beautiful but terrifying._ "They've got it," he said and just saying it out loud scared him and by the look on Paul's face he felt the same. "They'll text me again when they get here, shouldn't be too long."

"Good," Paul whispered as much to himself than Earl. "That's, that's good."

"How do you want to do this?" Earl asked him, all of a sudden he was glad not to be in control, best leave others to plan what to do. Now he was more than content just to be on the periphery of things.

Paul thought for a long moment, he looked to Earl like he was running complex mathematics in his head. "Erm, right. Let things kick off here... Erm," he stuttered his eyes moving restlessly around his surroundings and for one horrible moment Earl thought he was going to lose it. Finally he seemed to refocus on the situation at hand and fixed Earl with a steady gaze. "Yeah, right. Once they get back to you, tell them to go to James Street, it's just a couple of minutes from here, down by the canal. It's all derelict now and quiet as hell. Tell them I'll meet them there to run through just how we're going to do this."

Earl knew the place he meant, although it was almost right in the town centre it had been left to rot since the housing boom imploded, they were half way through demolishing all the houses on the street when they ran out of money. "Perfect," he said.

"Yeah, then I'll bring them around the back here," Paul continued, he gestured over to the transit van. "I'll bring the transit we used for the P.A. If they are watching the place, the police will just think we're hauling more gear. You can all hide in the back. They didn't search us coming in, so no reason to think they will when we get back."

"Terrifying but beautiful," Earl said to himself.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. It's a good plan."

Paul slapped him on the arm. "Okay, you get going, text them with the address and make sure you keep out of sight if you're going to hang around here until they get back. I don't want any fuck up's now that we're so close."

"Will do." Earl paused for a long moment before continuing. "Can you believe this is really happening?"

Paul gave him a grave look. "I know." Then he snapped out of it a moment later getting back to business. "Look, just get them to James Street. Get Lib to text me when they're there." He took a hold of Earl's arm and drew him close. "Earl, now you need to listen to me. Stay away from James Street, go anywhere but stay away and out of sight. The police are looking for you, Christ it's dangerous as hell you being here, but that can't be helped." He was clearly struggling with something.

"Paul, what is it?" Earl asked with a growing sense of unease. "Everything's okay, isn't it?"

"Yeah, course." He let go of Earl's arm. "Truth is, Earl, and I'm sorry to say it, but I don't want you fucking this up."

"Me?" That stung Earl like a slap in the face. "What does that mean?"

"All I'm saying is just send the text and keep out of the way." Paul replied defensively. "Once I get Lib and Freddie back here I'll get her to text you. Don't worry you'll be here when it all goes down."

He doesn't trust me, Earl realised bitterly. After everything none of them really trust me, and with that came the sudden fear that they might shut him out altogether. He had to fight the urge to smack Paul right in the face, but that would just be proving his point, still Paul glanced nervously down at Earl's hands which he had balled into fists without realising it. He flexed his fingers and stepped away and onto the loading ramp because he couldn't rule out hitting the stuck up bastard regardless and if he did that then he definitely would be out of the picture.

"Okay," Earl replied weakly and moved off down the ramp and off across the back stage loading area without another word. He felt like a child who just wanted to hang around with the big kids, but they had laughed in his face. He was glad he had his back to Paul as he strode away towards the welcoming shadows because he couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes.

"I'll see you soon," Paul called after him.

Earl didn't turn around.

THE CALM BEFORE

Despite the fact that they had the car's heater up full blast, Libby felt cold. And although they had gotten back from Logan's and into town just twenty minutes ago, it felt like they had been sitting there for hours waiting for Dennis to text them with an update. On more than one occasion she had to stop herself from texting or even calling her brother, but they had told him not to call unless it was absolutely vital, so it was only right that she did the same.

She had parked the car down a deserted side street where only half the streetlights were working so she could hide them in the darkness between the yellow pools of light dotted up and down the street. They had a good view both up and down the street in case they had been followed but hadn't seen hide nor hair of another vehicle, let alone any pedestrians, since they had arrived.

Freddie was sitting next to her in the passenger seat staring silently out of the side window, his mouth was moving but she couldn't hear what he was saying to himself. He was actually looking out over a large expanse of waste ground clutching the box in both hands as if for comfort. But she knew he could have just as well have been staring at a brick wall, he was so lost in introspection.

She was about to say something, anything, just to break the oppressive atmosphere when the phone buzzed loudly where it was resting in her lap, her heart skipped half a dozen beats and she began to fumble with the phone, her fingers suddenly feeling twice as thick. She glanced across at Freddie before checking the message, she could see his reflection in the car's window. He shut his eyes and his brow furrowed, for a moment she thought he was crying, but if anything he looked like he was praying.

"We're on," she said checking the message from her brother. "Paul wants us to meet him at James Street," she thought for a moment. "Isn't that near that old railway depot in the centre of town?" She asked. Freddie nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "Den says there's a few police around, but nothing to worry about."

"Anything about us?" Freddie said not turning around, his breath misted the window obscuring his reflection.

"Nope, just to meet Paul at James Street. He wants us to text him when we're there." Libby closed her eyes trying to conjure us a mental picture of the quickest route through town to James Street, it wasn't far, probably twenty minutes at the most. She shook her head in quiet disbelief. So close now, she thought. James Street couldn't be any more than five minutes or so from the university. Then it was just a matter of getting inside, saying their piece and then standing back to watch the shockwaves. Simple when you thought about it like that.

Another text came through snapping her out of her daze. She glanced at her phone, it was another from Dennis: _'Don't forget about me, big sis'._ Libby frowned. What did he mean by that? She supposed he was feeling a little left out again. So despite her better judgement she sent him one back. _'No one can forget about you, shit head. See you soon.'_ I hope.

"We should get going," she said but just couldn't move, it was as if the events of the past few hours had finally caught up with here all at once. Her arms felt too leaden to even rise up to the steering wheel. "God," she uttered. "Can't seem to get going... Stupid." When she finally got them working, her hands were shaking so much she had to grip a hold of the steering wheel just to stop them.

"Now, I'm glad I have the WMD," Freddie said and gave her the ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, it's stupid but I just can't get them to stop shaking." She flexed her fingers several times until they gradually began to behave. _I'm so scared,_ she wanted to tell him but something stopped her, she was supposed to be the strong one, wasn't she?

"I know how you feel," Freddie said. "I feel like I'm gonna puke, my stomach's doing back flips."

"Mine to," Libby admitted, she felt like she had swallowed a gallon of battery acid, she could taste the bile in the back of her throat. Libby started the ignition but left the car idling. "You thought about what you going to say yet?" She asked Freddie.

He grimaced sheepishly. "I had it all worked out. This big speech, I've been running it over and over in my head since we started back." He shook his head and fell silent.

"Go on," Libby urged, she laid a comforting hand on his knee and was relieved to see it wasn't shaking so badly now.

"That's just the point," he said. "Can't remember a damn word of it." He put the box in his lap and took out a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket. Libby had completely forgotten about the letter Logan had given to Freddie. "I think I'll just read what Logan wrote, it sums things up a hell of a lot better than I could. Wanna read it?"

"Not right now," she said. "Just remember the hard work's already done," she told him. "We've got the virus, and I have a feeling that all you'll have to do is flash that bottle and the place will go ballistic." Libby moved her left hand off his knee and onto the gear stick. She was about to put the car into gear when Freddie gently grabbed her arm, it was a slow movement but the unexpected contact made her start all the same.

"Look, Lib... Before things get really mental, I just wanted to say..." He faltered as a sob escape him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Libby twisted around and took his face in her hands, where as she was cold as ice, he was burning up.

He took her hand and kissed it. "I know, don't worry, I'm not trying to back out again or anything. It's just that... I just wanted to tell you how glad I am you're here. I'm so damn scared half the time I can't think straight. I truly couldn't have gotten this far without you."

Libby leaned forwards and kissed him. "Of course you would," she lied.

He suddenly grabbed her pulling her close. "God I love you," he blurted out and kissed her so urgently that Libby had to fight the urge to pull away. Even after last night's passionate love making, even after everything they had been through, came the icy realization that he meant nothing to her now. If she felt cold on the outside it was nothing compared to her frozen heart.

"I love you too," she lied again. Libby squinted at his face in the half light of the car. "Hey, your nose is bleeding."

TABLES TURNED

"So, that'll be the tables turned then." The old man's face was a bloody mess, his nose was clearly broken which gave his voice a nasally tone as he spoke. But still he managed to grin at Harper revealing a set of broken teeth, his eye lids were still heavy having just about come around from unconsciousness as he looked across the kitchen table at Harper who was seated at the other side with blood shot eyes. "Why Harper," he slurred. "You don't look so good."

Harper couldn't help but laugh. "Christ, would you like me to get you a mirror?"

The old man brought a bruised hand up and lightly touch his cheek, he hissed in pain forcing a fine mist of blood through his ruined teeth. "Now I know how you feel," he said looking at the blood on his finger-tips.

"Not quite," Harper replied. "I haven't shot you... Yet." He rested the pistol on the table by the grip so it was pointing at Logan's chest. The truth of it was Paul Harper didn't feel any pain at all, the massive amount of whatever was in Logan's wonder pills had seen to that. He was as high as a kite and the drug had given everything a golden haze around it. Despite his situation, Harper couldn't remember feeling so content. It was a feeling he could get used to.

"You are grinning like a loon, Harper," Logan pointed out with some amusement. He cocked his head to one side and narrowed his black and blue eyes. "How much did you take?"

"Enough," Harper replied. He had taken another of them moments before Logan came around, not that he had been in any pain, the first one was still in full effect, he just wanted to drift away a little deeper. He had a feeling things were coming to a head and couldn't think of a better way to go out. He fished out the pill box with his free hand and gave it a shake. "Still got a few left though."

"Don't suppose I could have one?"

"Physician, heal thy self." Harper replied and put the pill box onto the table in front of him.

Logan guffawed at that and instantly regretted it, he cursed and screwing his face up in pain. "Wow, that was incredibly painful," Logan said with a grimace.

"Good," Harper said. Although through his drug fluid haze everything had a kind of horrific beauty to it. His thoughts clouded over, he had to ask the old bastard something, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was.

"My, what a pair we must look," Logan said with a thin smile, even that slight motion made his blood shot eyes flare with a flash of agony. "Like two bloody bookends. Anyone peeping in through that window would think they've stumbled upon night of the living dead."

True enough Harper had to admit, they did make a grim duo... Wait a minute, night? Why did that strum a chord of disquiet in the back of his mind? Night. Harper was sure it had been daylight when he had ran outside to try and stop those Eco-idiots driving off with Logan's pride and joy. It had been day hadn't it? Or at the very least early evening. He tried to rack his numb brain but he was having more and more trouble focusing his thoughts on anything more than talking and breathing and not falling off the damn chair he was on.

He looked up, although the florescent strip light was on above him the room seemed so dim if could have been lit by candle light for all the good it was doing. The large kitchen window to his left confirmed what he feared; he couldn't see anything through it only the kitchen reflected back at him. He could have been sitting here watching Logan slowly drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. A stab of fear cleared his thoughts for a moment. He had something important he needed to do, he was sure of it. But what? Why was he sitting in a kitchen with a bloody looking scarecrow across the table from him, stoned out of his mind?

Car keys.

"Where are your car keys?" He asked and tapped the pistol on the table for emphasis.

Logan seemed to take an age to process the question. "You can't stop them, you know? You don't even know where they are going." He thought about that for a moment. "Come to think of it, neither do I."

"I have to try, now answer the question. Where are your car keys?"

"Harper the action hero," Logan said weakly. His head lolled forwards and for a second Harper thought he was going to die right then and there.

"Logan!" He shammed his free hand on the table and the old man looked back up at him again through unfocused eyes. "Answer the question. Where are your fucking car keys?"

Logan lent slowly forwards and rested his elbows on the table, he held his head in his hands as if he had to do so to keep looking at Harper. He ran his tongue across his shattered front teeth. "You know I can't do that, Harper," he finally said, the pain clear in his voice as he spoke. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" He nodded to the pistol. "That would be such a shame," he lamented. "So close to the end."

"That's a matter of perspective," Harper told him. He wondered if he would even remember doing it, if he did murder the old man, he was so doped up. Everything felt like a warm cosy dream, despite the desperate scenario he had found himself in, he was calm, happy even, he just hoped the elation would last long enough for him to get away from here. He looked at the pill box on the table then to the pistol in his hand, handle resting in the table, barrel pointed up slightly to Logan's chest.

Pain killers both he mused and he contemplated taking another pill. It was easy to see how someone could get addicted to the buzz. He couldn't even remember the pain he had been in before; of being so scared he thought he was going to piss himself. He focused back to the matter at hand with growing difficulty. Logan had told him that shooting him so close to the end would be a shame. "I could live with it," he said.

"Not by the look of you," Logan replied.

"I feel fine," he said. "Never better to be precise, I could get used to this."

"I doubt you even have the strength to..." Logan didn't get chance to finish his sentence.

Harper shifted the pistol slightly to the right and pulled the trigger. Logan physically jumped in his seat as the bullet zinged by his ear and tore into the wall over his left shoulder. The pistol kicked hard in Harper's hand and he watched the shell casing ejecting from the breach as the slide zipped back as if in slow motion, he followed its ark as it spun smoking through the air. He was so wired he felt that he would be able to catch it in mid-air he wanted to. Instead he let it fly off and out of sight.

Logan looked at Harper, his eyes wide with terror; it felt good to see the old bastard so scared. What had he said earlier? 'That'll be the tables turned then'. Damn straight, the gun was power and it filled him with elation to weld it. To be the master of his own destiny for a change, he vaguely recalled another thing Logan had so glibly told him early. That it felt good to be the player instead of the played. Now Harper knew what he had meant by that. Power. The power of life and death, no one would blame him for putting a bullet in Logan's big brain for what he had done to him these last few hours, days, weeks or however long he had been cooped up here at the good doctor's will.

"I guess you do have the strength after all," Logan said eyeing him suspiciously. "But do you have the will?"

Harper felt a shot of cold shock run through him as his finger twitched and he almost pulled the trigger; just to see the look on Logan's face. Harper glanced at the pistol and in an instant all thought of killing the doctor melted away.

Could he really have done it? The plain answer was; hell yes, and blame the dope in his system for it. That was terrifying.

"I don't time for this bullshit Logan," Harper said. Despite himself Harper could quite clearly hear a voice at the back of his mind saying _'shoot him, shoot the smug bastard!'_ The voice was very compelling. "Logan, the keys," he said trying to block out the homicidal seducer in his head.

At this Logan lent back in his chair and folded his hands together placing them on the table in front of him. "No," he said quite plainly. "I'm quite happy just to sit here and let things unfold."

"Logan!" Harper said insistently, didn't the old fool know how close he was to getting a bullet in the head? _'Shoot him.'_

The old man smiled, winced, but smiled all the same despite the pain. "Let's just sit here and see what happens."

"Christ Logan, you fucking lunatic." Harper despaired. The old man looked so calm that Harper began to wonder which one of them was doped up on morphine.

"This is pretty much what I was going to do tonight anyway," Logan said. "Obviously I hadn't planned on being quite so battered and bruised, but there you go," he added nonchalantly.

No, this wasn't right, Harper fretted. The old man was trying to play some mind game on him. "What are you really up to, Logan?" Harper asked. "What is all this really about?"

"I've told you," Logan replied.

"No, you've told me a load of bollocks. I don't believe for a second you've done all this... Me... Poor Frank. All this nightmare, just so you can give away your life's work."

Harper could feel himself slipping away again, the kitchen was getting darker, he felt so numb he realised he couldn't feel the gun in his hand, but could feel the increasing pressure on the right hand side of his head like it was going to burst open spilling his already damaged brain all over the floor.

"Harper?" Logan said but it was as though his voice was out of sync with his mouth, it moved and a second later the word came out. "Harper? You drifted off there for a moment, stay with me, okay?"

Harper concentrated hard on Logan's mouth waiting for the sound to reach him. He took his time processing the words as if they had been spoken in a foreign language. He swallowed hard and gently poked himself in the side of the head through the bandage. Pain shot through his head like a lightning bolt, he cried out, but more in relief than discomfort. It was as if he had just been hit with a defibrillator. The kitchen came back into sharp bright focus once again, as did Logan's battered face. The old man was looking at him like he had lost his mind, but he didn't care. Peter Harper had never been so happy to be in pain in his life. Pain was real, immediate, pain meant life. He shook the morphine haze from his head as best he could and clung on to his hard won equilibrium.

"Tell me what you are doing?" Harper insisted.

"Is it so hard to believe that I want some good to come from what I have created?" Logan said, he sounded genuine enough, but Harper could sense he was lying.

"Christ yes. You shot me, killed Frank, and God only knows who else. All for the good of humanity? Bullshit."

The old man lent forwards. "Come on, Harper" he pleaded. "Must you believe the worst in everyone? I don't suppose it ever occurred to you that I might actually be trying to make amends?" He sounded convincing enough, but Harper saw nothing but lies in his bloodshot eyes as he continued. "I know taking the virus could have gone smoother..."

"Huh, no shit!"

"But those two kids that were here. They believe in me, Harper." He had bloody tears in his eyes as he spoke. "They truly believe some good can come out of all this. God, they think I'm some kind of hero. The way I have sacrificed everything to get the virus to them, to expose the world to what we have been doing at Ventrex."

_Expose the world,_ Harper felt a chill which he hoped was the drugs in his system wearing off. "But those kids don't know you the way I do," Harper told him coldly.

As Harper searched Logan's face for any sign of deception, he suddenly found himself desperately wanting to believe the old man had become caught up in a chain of events that he had started but could no longer control. Because the alternative froze the blood in his veins. He could almost believe him, almost. If it wasn't for his eyes.

"And I _know_ you, Logan," Harper whispered.

Harper and Logan sat in silence for the longest time, Logan was looking at his hands folded on the table in front of him, he looked to Harper like he was praying, and then after an age he slowly raised his head and met Harper's gaze. He gave a slight shake of the head and then a horrifying, lunatic smile slowly began to creep across his bloody face. It was as if a mask of sanity had suddenly been lifted.

"You know, Harper" he said grinning now, exposing broken and jagged bloody teeth. "You really are a little too intelligent for a security guard. You're wasted in that dead end job," he said. "Or maybe that bullet I put in your stull knocked some sense into that brain of yours..." He sucked air in through his ruined teeth making a hissing, almost bestial sound.

"Tell, me..." The change in Logan's demeanour had Harper stumbling over his words, he had to remind himself that he was the one in control, he was the one with the gun. He tapped the table with the barrel before resting it again on its handle pointing at Logan's chest. He wasn't in the least bit surprised when all that won was a slight raise of the eyebrows from the doctor. "Tell me what's really going on here," he continued, fighting to keep his voice even as a feeling nothing short of creeping terror washed over him. "No more games, no more of your bullshit."

Then it came to him, the reason he was still alive, the reason Logan had risked everything to get him here when it would have been so much easier to put another bullet in his head. He wanted a witness and not to his good deeds, it was much more sinister than that. Logan wanted someone to watch this nightmare unfold with. "Tell me what all this is about," he insisted. "After all that's why I'm still alive, isn't it?"

The smile slowly melted away from Logan's face. "They wanted me to destroy it, Harper." He said incredulously, his voice was laced with bitterness. "Can you believe that? After all those years?" He shook his head and for a moment Harper thought he was going to break down in tears. Once again he had performed a one hundred and eighty degree mood swing in seconds and Harper wasn't entirely sure which one scared him the most, he squeezed the pistol just that little bit tighter in his sweat soaked hand. His index finger brushed the trigger guard.

"After all that work?" Logan continued as if Harper shared his outrage. "That would have been nothing short of sacrilege. Those cocksuckers," he sneered in distain. "My so called colleagues. They had a meeting with the M.O.D about it, and I wasn't even consulted, they said I was too close to the project. Too close! But the real reason was because they knew I would have been able to talk them around. Christ I have double the IQ of any of those dick-less morons and they knew it. So they all skulked off somewhere behind my back. They decided its fate over tea and biscuits! My life's work, those spineless bastards."

Logan seemed to drift off as he remembered the betrayal; his hate was written so plainly across his battered and bruised face that Harper found himself wondering what he had done with the poor bastards once he found out. He already knew what he was capable of just to anyone who had the misfortune to get in his way; he could only imagine what fate awaited his friends and colleagues at the lab.

"Fuckers!" Logan spat making Harper almost cry out in shock. He could feel the effect that too much morphine was having on his already fucked up brain, despite everything he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate. But still he had to keep it together, let Logan tell his tale if he must. Whatever it took to get out of here and raise the alarm back in the real world. He just had to stay conscious and as alert as he could, at least just for a little while longer.

"You see it scared them," Logan said and leaned forwards across the table towards Harper and lowered his voice to a whisper. "They'd poured millions into its creation, but once they truly began to comprehend just how powerful we had made it, they pulled the plug." A manic laugh escaped his swollen lips. "What the hell did they expect? We had done exactly what they had asked. Created the perfect weapon. Oh, Harper it's a thing of such beauty," he gushed. "Tasteless. Odourless utterly efficient, and almost obscenely easy to use. Just drop it into an enemy's water supply and sit back and watch the bodies pile up." He sat back again, beaming like a proud Father.

"They must have had their reasons," Harper said trying to interject some sanity into this nightmare.

"Oh, they did," Logan admitted quite happily. He propped his elbow on the table and moved to rest his chin on his hand but winced in pain and thought better of it. "You see it all started with the computer simulation." He smiled wistfully remembering, like he was recalling some cherished childhood memory. "Oh, Harper, I wish you could have seen it. They fed in every possible scenario. Every way a country might try to combat it once we had introduced it into their eco system. Phew, the list was endless. From mass inoculations, to feeding any and all possible antidotes into the water supply, you name it, they tried it. You could see how at first it started out like a computer game to them, idiots, but that was all well and good, because then I got to see how their demeanour changed as it slowly began to dawn on them just how perfect it truly was. It just adapted too damn fast for them. Within hours of the first cases coming to light, ten per cent of the population was already infected beyond all hope of cure. Even the water molecules in the air caused it to multiply. Faster than any of us could have possibly predicted..."

Logan broke off mid-stream and his face grew grave once more, he studied the dried blood beneath his fingernails for a long moment before finally continuing. "That was when it first started," he said softly with the hint of a sneer. "Looking back now I should have seen how uneasy they were all becoming at just how perfect the virus was. Even the antidotes we had created alongside it failed in the end." He left out a heavy sigh. "Those cowards."

Logan looked up at Harper who couldn't help but wince at the hate in his eyes. All this talk of betrayal seemed to galvanize the old man, he sat up straight and didn't so much as grimace at the action, his eyes flashed with anger. "Even members of my own team," he continued. "Even those who had been with me from the very beginning began to question what we had created. But I was blind to it, I couldn't see anything but its utter beauty, its absolute perfection. I ran the simulations myself, over and over. Just as they had, I suppose I couldn't quite believe the data they were constantly throwing in my face. But it was true, Harper, all of it. Each time this co-called super computer came up with a new scenario to stop the virus, it was always one step ahead. It was growing second by second beyond our control, and that just made it all the more precious to me. It was a true Frankenstein moment. Yes we knew the sum of its parts, every molecule every atom had been man-made, but it was now, way, way beyond simple chemistry. And that was when I saw what I had to do. That was when everything became crystal clear."

Harper listened to all this with a growing sense of horror. "Logan. What have you done?" He said, his voice cracking with every word.

If Logan heard him he didn't react, he was lost in his own world, then a look of euphoria crossed his face.

"Doctor Logan?" Harper asked more sharply this time. "What have you done?"

The old man shooed away the question with a wave of the hand. "Oh, Harper, you don't get it... Christ how could you?" Logan leant forwards again and Harper was shocked to see he had tears in his eyes. He looked around the room as if for inspiration, then finally brought his gaze back to Harper.

It seemed like forever before he spoke again, but when he did his voice was full of raw emotion. "It was as if... As if there was something sentient about it. Some quiet, but massive intellect working away within it. It was aware, I'm convinced of that now, it was aware of what we were trying to do to it. It was alive, Harper... _Is_ alive." A look of almost childish wonderment came across his face, burning away the years and the bruises.

"Oh, come on," Harper said. He wanted desperately to tell Logan just how insane that sounded, but he couldn't argue with the look on the old man's face, his eyes were almost glowing with a zealots relish. He was looking upon the face of a true believer, of someone who truly believed he had felt the presence of the divine. Not only that, it was a Deity he had helped create. Harper fumbled for something to say but he was lost in Logan's hypnotic gaze, he was vaguely aware that he had put the pistol down but what with a combination of having half a head and probably a lethal dose of industrial strength pain-killer coursing through his veins, he just didn't care.

"It just wants to survive," Logan said. "After all, isn't that the most basic instinct of every living thing? To survive, to reproduce?" He asked. "Artificially created or not? To evolve, to improve, grow, adapt to its environment. To _live_?"

To live. Somewhere in the back of Harper's addled brain, a flare of recognition went off. To _live_. Wasn't that the reason he was still alive, after everything, to live, despite Logan's best efforts? Harper's thoughts began to clear a little; he looked at the old man and once again saw him for what he really was. Doctor Logan, bio weapons creator, the man who had killed his friend Frank, the man who had shot him in the head without a second thought and had dragged him here for his own sick reasons, reasons the old bastard didn't even fully understand himself.

Harper started in shock; it was as if someone had slapped him hard across the face. The gun was lying on the table in front of him. What the fuck was he doing? He picked it up and pointed it back at Logan. He flushed with embarrassment and cursed his stupidity. If Logan hadn't been so wrapped up in his own bullshit, bullshit Harper had almost become seduced by himself, then it would have been him staring down the barrel if a gun (again) and not the good doctor.

Damn his head wound, damn the wonder pills that had fried his brains and most of all damn doctor fucking Logan. Harper raised the pistol, he had to clasp a hold of his right hand with his left it was shaking so much, but he just about managed to level it at Logan's broken nose. Logan looked at him with genuine bemusement like a priest who had just delivered a rip roaring sermon only to have one of his congregation jump to his feet proclaiming that God is an astronaut.

Harper concentrated on the pistol in his hands, it felt good and real, with a satisfying weight to it. The old man liked dealing in death; well two could play at that game. "Christ man, listen to yourself," he voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere off to his left, and he was vaguely aware of the soft sound of distant tinnitus in his ears. "Just take a step back for a sec' and actually think about what you are saying. You're talking about this thing like it has a life of its own. This thing you created in a fucking test tube, for Christ sake."

"That's what I thought too, in the beginning," Logan exclaimed excitedly, oblivious to the gun pointing in his face. Harper couldn't help but marvel at where the man got his energy from. "I was blinded by the mechanics of it," Logan continued like a giddy school boy presenting his class science project. "It was a puzzle we had to crack. So much so that I missed it. Missed that moment, when everything changed. That instant where it went from a mere experiment, to something... Something so much more." He shook his head in disbelief his eyes were ablaze now, his voice full of awe. "Something almost biblical in its power. That's the only way to describe it. It was now a power beyond anything else. No matter what we tried it found a way to unleash that death dealing power on these who had made it. It can re-write the very fabric of our existence. Create a new beginning, a Genesis." He gasped out loud. "God it was so beautiful. But only I saw all this and that was the problem. Those gutless politicians and the military top brass. Bastards," he spat and made a face like he had just taken a shot of battery acid and was growing agitated. "Fear spread through the unit like a cancer. One by one they all turned against it. I had to do something," he explained. Logan thought about this for a long moment, then that maniac smile slowly spread over his face once again and the hairs on the back of Harper's neck stood on end.

"Oh course," Logan continued. "The final straw was The Doomsday Dilemma. Oh, Harper you should have seen their faces."

"The Doomsday Dilemma?" Harper asked, but wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"The cure," Logan stated casually. "The computer, being a computer and as such didn't have its thought process clouded by the moral or ethical constraints, us humans are so fond of. Finally came up with the perfect solution to an outbreak. It weighed up all the odds, the pros and the cons and came up with the perfect solution." He was grinning now. "The only logical way to limit the number of dead and obliterate the threat of further contamination, were a few well-placed thermonuclear detonations over the infected country. It was even kind enough to give us the exact locations and mega tonnage required to make it the most effective." Logan chuckled to himself at this. "When the data came through I thought General Carson was actually going to have a thrombosis right then and there!"

Harper had seen enough films to fear that was what Logan was going to say. Some faceless bureaucrat was always on hand to press the button. But that was the movies, wasn't it? In reality no one would possibly think that was actually a viable solution in the real world. "Come on," Harper protested with a growing sense of dread. "No country would do that. Wipe out millions of its own people? It would never stand."

"Are you so sure?" Logan asked. "What would you do if faced with that dilemma? Kill sixty million to save a billion? It's the only logical course of action."

"Fuck logic!" Harper snapped.

"Spoken like a true human, Harper. Stick your head in the sand and hope that the problem goes away, meanwhile my beautiful creation would be wiping out ninety eight per cent of the world as you know it."

"No one would, could do that," Harper said and was shocked at how unconvincing he sounded. His arm was screaming with fatigue, so he had to lower the pistol until it was resting its handgrip back on the table, again Logan was so caught up in his own dreams of Armageddon he didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe," Logan replied with a shrug. "Of course anyone faced with The Doomsday Dilemma would have to make up their minds pretty damn fast. And when did you last hear of a politician, one in a uniform or a suit make up their mind about anything without going through a dozen debates and motions to the house?" Logan asked. Harper had no answer, the old man was right and it made him sick to his stomach as he imagined them all flapping and pontificating while the world withered and died around them.

"The computer had the right of it, with its cold logic, in many ways the virus and the machine and so much in common, not surprising I suppose as they were both man made, but have grown beyond man's moralistic shackles. The computer did it in a millisecond. And because of that, it would save millions of lives." Logan said.

Harper couldn't imagine the United Nations working so fast. They would need a dozen summits just to entertain the idea, let alone the time and courage it would take for someone to actually do the deed. No Logan was right; mankind's own humanity would be its downfall if the thing ever got out. They could eventually decide to do the unthinkable, but my then it would be too late. The world was such a global community these days that just a few infected people would be enough. Tens of thousands of people fly in and out of Britain every day and to the four corners of the world. One person infects two hundred on a plane, then each of those in turn infect everyone they came into contact with and on and on it would go before anyone realised it was too late.

"The Doomsday Dilemma," Harper whispered it softly. He thought of those eco-idiots glibly walking around with the virus. They could kill the world while trying to save it. Ironic he had to admit, sickening, but ironic.

"Do you think they already have it in place as we speak?" Logan asked wickedly. "They know I took it, they know I was against them destroying it. What do you think? Are they debating The Doomsday Dilemma at this very moment?"

"Those kids, they won't let it out," Harper said holding onto the words like a drowning man grasping at straws.

"True," Logan admitted and ran his tongue over his broken teeth with a grimace. "But to be honest it would be a miracle if they get anywhere near that precious rally of theirs." Logan winced and spat out a mouthful of bloody spit onto the floor to his right. "Not that it makes a difference either way. This is the end game now, Harper" Logan said with an ominous gravity to his voice. "General Carson and his idiot team will be in no doubt after the gun fight at the OK corral back at Ventrex. They know the virus is gone, and they know that I took it. Crazy old doctor Logan. The only one who wanted to stop them from destroying it." The old man cocked a chilling grin. "It's inevitable now."

_Inevitable_. Logan clearly didn't care if the Eco-idiots succeeded in going public with the virus or not. "Christ, Logan," Harper said once more. "What have you done?"

TERRORIST MOI?

Feeling like what she was; a wanted woman. Libby Wright darted across the dimly lit road and over to a boarded up row of shops, with Freddie close behind her, following she thought to herself, always following. As she moved she kept one hand inside her shoulder bag and held onto the box containing the virus to try and stop it from moving as much as she could whilst still trying to keep up a decent pace. They hid in the doorway of one of the shops which smelled of rotting wood and dog piss and waited.

A car's headlights cut through the gloom in an low arc of yellow light which illuminated the road ahead of them for a moment before moving away, it reminded Libby of a prison search light scouring the yard for escaped inmates. She glanced up the road hoping in equal measure that it was Paul's transit and not a police car coming onto the street. She cursed under her breath as the car turned around at the top of the street and drove off out of sight. Someone had taken a wrong turn and had just been using the street to double back on themselves. Either that or some pervert in search of a prostitute. Either way it wasn't Paul.

"Shit, where is he?" Freddie hissed nervously from behind her.

"He'll be here," she told him and blew into her numb hands. It was bitterly cold out here, but still she knew they had a better chance of avoiding detection if they made their way here on foot. She suddenly wondered absurdly if she would ever see her clapped out Micra again.

"It's been nearly an hour," Freddie complained. "The rally will be over soon. I knew we shouldn't have ditched the car. I'm gonna call Paul, see what's going on."

He moved to reach into the inside pocket of his coat for his phone, but Libby grabbed his arm and pulled it away. "No, he said he'll be here and he will," she said sharply, then added more gently. "Look, give it ten minutes, then you can text Dennis."

It had occurred to her since they had last communicated with Dennis that her little brother might already be in police custody, or worse. But she had promised to wait until Paul got here, so wait they would, even if it took all night. And if it turned out both Paul and Dennis had been caught, then they would just have to go it alone. She was convinced that if that happened then Logan would go public with them, then they would just have to let the dice fall where they may.

She thought of her brother, of her Mum and Dad locked away and vowed that she would get them out, then all this came out and the public were baying for politicians' blood, they would have to set them free. Still, she hadn't been able to shake a sour thought that had been festering at the back of her mind since they had got back, longer if she was honest with herself.

What if the public saw _them_ as terrorists? After all, if they could sell the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to the people, could they put a spin on this and paint them as the enemy? She had been so blinded by the right of what they were going that she hadn't stopped to consider how this all could look to the outside world. She remembered the Government's mantra. _'We don't negotiate with terrorists.'_ What if the great British public didn't want to believe? Wouldn't life be so much simpler if you could just put your blind faith in your government to keep you safe from _'them'_? Just let the security services get on with it so you could watch your mind numbing reality TV and twenty-four hour sports channels.

It was a seductive voice at the back of her mind and one that was growing louder now that she was allowing it to be heard above her usual self-righteous rhetoric. It's so much easier to ignore the difficult choices than it is to make a stand. Libby of all people knew that of late.

She found she had absently slipped her hand into her bag and was stroking the box as she was lost in thought. They could just give it back, despite everything, despite what they had been through it wasn't too late. Christ she knew she would only have to mention the possibility to Freddie and he would jump at the chance. They could blame Logan for everything, take the box to the police, tell them where Logan was and that they had intended to do just that all along.

It would be so easy, end it all and go back to her normal life. She was vaguely aware that it had been an empty soulless life before this, but the voice was as loud as a shout now and made so much more sense. It hadn't been such a bad life, and if anything good was going to come out of all this it was the fact that she had made up her mind to leave Freddie, she could start again, move some place where she could re-invent herself. That was a positive to all the negatives that had arisen of late. A new life, a new start.

Just even allowing herself to think of it seemed to lift a huge weight off her shoulders. Whereas just a few short hours ago she would have bitten Freddie's head off for even suggesting such a thing and cursed him for a coward. Now it made perfect sense, it was as if a fog had lifted from her mind, what she held in her hands was not the start of something terrifying and life changing, it was a get out of jail free card. It wasn't too late. Sure, Dennis would hate her for it, but he would be safe, so would Mum and Dad, and he would forgive her in time, she knew that. He always did.

Libby felt a hand on her shoulder and she almost cried out in shock. Freddie pulled her gently back onto the doorway and whispered in her ear. "Over there." He gestured up the road; a black transit van was driving slowly down the main road that ran across the top of the street they were on. Its lights were off and in the darkness it looked like some metal beast prowling the night in search of prey. "Paul," Freddie said quietly.

Libby was suddenly afraid. It was too soon, she still didn't know if she wanted to go through with this or if her day dream of ending all this now was nothing more than her fear whispering in her head. "Freddie..."

Before she could say anything else, Freddie moved out of the doorway and dragged her out into the road, following him for once, but to what end? "C'mon," he said firmly and waved to the transit which had now slowed to a stop at the entrance to their street.

It's not too late, Libby told herself, it's not too late, there was still time, she could talk to Paul when they got in the van, ask him what he thought. Her head was pounding now as they moved up the street. With each step her uncertainty was growing, and she realised she couldn't make this decision alone. She had to at least see what Freddie and Paul wanted to do, there was no harm in one last discussion. That made her feel a little better knowing she wouldn't have to decide this alone. But what would she choose? "God, I don't know," she said out loud as Freddie led her on.

***

Something was wrong. Crazy Earl checked his phone for what seemed like the hundredth time and there was still no message. As he had been waiting a growing sense of unease had crept over him, that old insecurity that they really didn't need him any longer. The pieces in the game had been set; Libby and Freddie close by with the prize, Paul, their ticket into the rally and his connections to co-ordinate what happened next. All vital pieces of the puzzle, but where, if anywhere did he fit in? He had tried to dismiss such thoughts as paranoia, but he couldn't shake that nagging doubt that they really didn't need him anymore.

Maybe that was why he had decided to stay close to the university, skulking around in its grounds waiting for the magic text that would summon him onto history. He had found a spot by a graffiti scrawled gazebo located in a park on the very edge of the campus by the universities tennis courts, it was where he hid his motor bike earlier, which judging by the amount of cigarette stubs on the floor was the place the students came for a sly fag in between lessons now that no one was allowed to smoke near any of the faculty buildings anymore. The gazebo gave him a perfect view of the entrance to the university car park and the road Paul would have to drive the transit down when he went to get Libby and Freddie and where he would have to drive back though to get to the rally.

It had been nearly an hour since he had texted his sister to arrange the meeting place but there had been no sign of the transit leaving. It had occurred to Earl that maybe Paul had decided to take his car instead, but that was a blue Vauxhall and of the several cars he had seen entering and leaving none had been Paul's.

That's when it hit home that they must have changed their plans. It was possible the police had moved in since he had left, but that would have meant streams of people coming out through the car park and off into town. But there had been fewer than a dozen cars since he had been there. "Shit," he cursed and took out his phone. He held it in his freezing hands for a full minute before putting it away again. No he had promised not to call or text until they contacted him. _If_ they contacted him?

"Oh, to hell with it!" Crazy Earl took off running across the grass and over to the bright floodlit buildings of the main university campus. He pulled his dark woollen hat down to just above his eyes and pulled up his collar, remembering the security cameras that were dotted all around once you got in amongst the classrooms. He just had to know one way or the other if Paul was still there or if the whole place was crawling with police.

Maybe everyone was having second thoughts? That brought a chill to his blood. Christ, that was it, he realised, they had called it off, and didn't have the balls to tell him. "No, no, no," he said with every step he took until he was sprinting now.

Earl slammed his back against the first building he came to and took a moment to get his bearings. He edged his way around the side and set off again between two class rooms and once he got to the end he crouched down. He could see the concert hall from where he was now, through the thin leafless branches of a clump of bushes next to a group of picnic tables. There was no flashing blue police lights and even from here he could make out the faint thump, thump, thump of music coming from inside. The rally was still on. Earl darted around the bushes and vaulted a frost dusted table and made his way around the back of the main hall to the back stage area where he had met Paul earlier.

He crept around the back and hid by a set of green wheelie bins. "What the hell is he playing at?" The transit van was still parked outside the back stage door area where it had been when he had left. He could see further down the road where three other cars were parked and sure enough, Paul's blue Vauxhall was still there. He cried out at the sound of metal screeching against metal as the large door to the back stage loading area shuddered open. Paul emerged with two other men which must have been roadies. "Finally," Earl said under his breath. As he watched, Paul said something to the two Roadies and then they jumped into the transit van, gave a peep of the horn and pulled away.

Paul gave a half-hearted wave and lingered by the open door as if he didn't want to go back inside. Earl contemplated moving out from behind the bins to make himself known, but there was something about Paul's manor that kept him where he was and safely out of sight. Then Paul seemed to wipe tears off his cheeks and then finally ducked back inside, leaving the large door ajar.

Earl waited for a moment to make sure no one came back out, then he darted across the open area between his hiding place and the back stage door. He peered tentatively inside to see Paul was standing at the end of an equipment strewn corridor talking to someone just out of sight. Libby? Freddie? If so then why had he been crying?

Earl crept inside and slowly made his way down the corridor, Paul stepped around the corner and out of sight, so he quickened his pace. He heard raised voices now above the music coming from the concert hall above his head, he edged his way along, then crouched down behind a large PA speaker flight case which had been pushed against the wall where the corridor met the corner off which Paul had just disappeared. He gingerly positioned himself so he could just about see around the corner without exposing his whole body.

He froze like a deer caught in headlights. He could see Paul was in a small office just feet from where he was. Earl mouthed a curse. In the room with him were two uniformed policemen. One had a sub-machine gun slung across his chest.

The older of the two policemen was talking on a walkie-talkie. Earl nearly threw up right then and there when he heard him speak. "Confirm again. Do you have a visual on the terrorists? Over."

_Terrorists_. The word hit Earl in the stomach like a cold metal fist and his heart began pounding in time with the music over his head. Boom, boom, boom. It was like being hit over the head with a baseball bat.

The radio crackled into life. _"Roger that, they're walking right up the street. They see us. Please advise, over."_

The policeman was about to reply when Paul stepped forwards to confront him. "They'll give up without a fight, they're just mixed up that's all, Christ they're not terrorists, just don't hurt them, Okay? You promised you wouldn't hurt them." He blurted.

The other policeman, who looked to Earl to be about as young as he was, moved between the two men and slammed Paul in the chest with his machine gun, sending him sprawling back and out of Earl's sight.

"But they're harmless!" Paul pleaded.

"I'll be the judge of that," The older policeman told him with a look of disgust. "They have a weapon of mass destruction. That makes them pretty fucking harmful in my book."

_"Sergeant, awaiting orders, over,"_ The radio spat through static.

"Wait one," the sergeant said into the radio as Paul began to sob pitifully. The sound was so raw, Earl was suddenly glad he couldn't see him. By the way the two policemen's eye lines dropped, Paul was now on his knees.

"Please, don't hurt them," Paul sobbed.

The sergeant looked down at him with a look of pure contempt. "Middle class Eco-warriors. I've shit 'em."

This won a grin from the younger officer.

Crazy Earl turned and ran.

***

They were half way up the street, when Libby pulled away from Freddie's grip, her hand instinctively went to the box in her shoulder bag, but she kept her eyes on the dark van which had stopped at the opening to the street. She suddenly had never felt so exposed. They were right in the middle of the road with nothing but fresh air within a twenty odd yard radius. Why had Paul pulled over so far away from them? Why not drive right down the street and pick them up, or at the very least get out and wave them over to him.

"Libby, come on," Freddie urged. "We can wait around here all night."

"Something's..." The muffled sound of Freddie's mobile going off in his coat pocket cut her off. It was a cheery ring tone, some pop punk song she vaguely knew but for the life of her at the moment couldn't place it. But all of a sudden it sounded dark and ominous.

"Christ Lib," Freddie reached into his inside coat pocket for the phone. "That's Dennis' ring tone..."

***

Earl tasted vomit at the back of his throat as he sprinted across the park and over to the gazebo where he had left his bike. He pressed the phone to his ear as it rang and rang. "Come on, Freddie, for Christ sake, pick up..." He screamed into it, his voice sounded off and strained and he realised he was sobbing. "Oh, God please..." The line connected and for a moment terror gave way to relief. "Jesus, Freddie, it's me... Hello? Freddie it's a trap, it's a trap! They've got Paul..."

Pandemonium sudden broke out on the other end, a burst of what sounded like gunfire distorted in his ear as he slide awkwardly to a halt by the gazebo. Followed by the sound of the phone being fumbled and dropped.

Earl's already shaky legs gave way from under him as he listened to the sickening chaos erupting on the other end of the phone. A woman screamed close by, it was a voice he recognised but one ripped all out of shape by horror.

"Libby..." He bent double and vomited onto the frozen grass. The phone slipped out of his hand, but he still had time to hear Libby scream something though the ear piece. It could have been _'Freddie',_ it could have been ' _Don't shoot me_...' His stomach knotted and he threw up again and rolled onto his side crippled by shock.

Then as he laid there a voice close by suddenly screamed at him to get up, Earl rolled onto his front and pushed himself up onto his knees, he frantically looked around as the voice screamed again. ' _Get up, get up,_ ' but he was alone. He scrambled over to his phone which had fallen on the ground where he had thrown up. The voice was coming from it, distorted through the ear piece. It was Libby.

ALL HELL

"Get up, get up! Freddie, get up!" Libby screamed at him and tried in vain to drag him to his feet, she had heard the shots and seen the muzzle flash coming from the transits side window, but her shock addled brain just couldn't process what had happened next. Everything was telling her that Freddie had been shot in the chest as he reached into his pocket for his phone and was now crumpled on the ground at her feet.

But that just didn't make any sense. Why would Paul want to shoot Freddie, he was jealous of him, sure, but this?

Libby felt like she had just been plunged into some surrealist dream triggered by the sound of the gunshots echoing all around her, then the sickening dull thump, thump like someone punching raw meat. She grabbed a hold of Freddie's coat and tried to pull him back to his feet. "Freddie, get up, we have to get out of here." She had somehow expected him to be as light as a feather, but he hardly moved even though she used all her strength to shift him. He let out a low disturbing moan and she could see steam rising from the dark wet patch on his chest.

There were angry voices close by shouting something she couldn't understand. Why was Freddie leaking from his chest? Libby fell to her knees next to him and gave him a violent shake. "Freddie? Freddie what are you doing?" She almost laughed at the blank look that had come over his face. A face that she now noticed was specked with dark splashes. Under the meagre street light they looked almost black, just like whatever was leaking from the two ragged holes in his chest.

Men shouting, close by, their voices strangely muffled like they were shouting from under water, but she zoned them out. Libby touched one of the holes that had torn through the material and absurdly thought that the idiot had ruined the nice woollen jumper she had bought him last month. It had cost her forty pounds and now he had ruined it. That made her cry, tears began to stream down her face now. Stupid jumper, and just look at it now. "Ruined," she said. A shout echoed down the street towards her, insistent, threatening, perhaps someone had seen what had happened and why Freddie had fainted.

Maybe the shouter was lamenting the ruined jumper just like she was? Libby began to sob now, she pulled Freddie close and kissed him on his lips and tasted blood. He wasn't breathing, her breath was plain to see in the cold night air as she sobbed, but all Freddie was doing was staring off blankly into space, his eyes were half closed like someone had taken a photo of him just as he was blinking, his face slack and odd looking. Lifeless.

The harsh roar of an engine and the screech of tires made her look up. The transit had skidded to a halt some twenty feet or so from where she and Freddie were sprawled in the middle of the road. Its headlights blinded her so she had to squint to see three silhouetted figures standing in front of it. They were the ones shouting, shouting at her to get her hands up, that they were armed. "Armed police," they kept saying. "Armed police." The transit's driver door opened and another darkly dressed figure got out and aimed a pistol at her through the open side window. It wasn't Paul, it was a gas masked armed police office, like the three shadows in front of the van. She focused on them; they each had a machine gun and were aiming right at her like fugitives from one of Dennis' X-box games, all testosterone and itchy trigger fingers.

Now they were arguing amongst themselves. "What the fuck just happened?" One asked. "Who fired?"

"He was reaching inside his jacket," one of the three silhouettes shouted back through his gas mask. "I thought..."

"Jesus, Christ," the first one cursed and Libby instantly tagged him as the one in charge. "Do you know what they are carrying you dickhead?"

The third soldier boy edged forwards a couple of steps, his gun trained on Libby. "Libby Wright, move away from him, get your hands in the air where I can see them. Or I will fire on you."

Libby had no doubt about that. Then she realised he had actually used her name. Of course, she was a wanted enemy of the state, so was... Freddie. She gasped in horror as the events of the last couple of minutes came flooding back in sharp, all too real focus. Freddie had been answering his phone, when the flash of light came from the transit's side window; Freddie had gone down instantly, nearly pulling her down with him. Libby looked down at Freddie's body in her arms. The harsh illumination of the transits headlights showed the deep red blood stains on Freddie's face and body in shocking clarity, it was all over her hands and clothes where she had held him. She stared into his sightless half closed eyes searching for a spark of life. But he was gone.

"Oh, God," she sobbed and realised that she had something in her right hand. Although she had no memory of doing it, during the confusion she must have taken the vial out of the box.

"Libby Wright..." The police man said again, he was about to move forwards again, when Libby raised he arm up into the air to reveal the vial. The three policemen backed away a few paces like a trio of Vampires confronted by a crucifix.

"You know what this is?" Libby screamed at them.

One of the policemen backed off so far he bumped into the front of the transit, one of the others wasn't far behind, but the third, the one who had shouted her name, perhaps the one who had killed Freddie only took two steps back before he stopped.

"Libby don't," he said and let the machine gun fall from his hands, it swung around his waist by the shoulder strap. He held out his gloved hands to show they were empty. Then slowly pulled his gas mask up away from his face and let it rest on the top of his head. "You don't want to do this," he said. Libby was surprised to see he was young and quite handsome in a boyish way, and despite everything she remembered the saying that you know when you are getting old when all the policemen look like kids.

"Christ Ben what are you doing?" The driver with the pistol still crouched behind the van door aiming at her through the open window shouted to his colleague. Even through the filter on his gas mask, Libby could hear the fear in his voice.

"Please," Ben the armed policeman said in a practiced soothing tone. "You don't want to do this."

Did she? Libby didn't move, as long as she had the virus there was no way they would shoot her like they had Freddie. She shifted back on her knees a ways and Freddie's body slipped off her lap. She kept her eyes on the young policeman and wondered how things had gotten so mixed up. She wanted to explain to him that she wasn't the enemy here; she was trying to do the right thing. It was Logan and those goons at Ventrex that were to blame.

One of Ben's team, Soldier Boy, seemed to take courage from him and edged a few faltering steps forwards, aiming as he went.

"Don't come any closer!" She screamed at him and he stopped dead and hesitantly lowered his weapon. That just left the driver by the transit and the other policeman who were aiming at her. "You shoot me, everyone dies." She was sobbing again at the impossibility of it all. How had this happened? How could things go so horribly wrong, so quickly?

"Libby," Ben coaxed.

"Everyone!" She screamed at him and he took a step back in fear.

The policeman who had hit his arse on the transit, Scaredy cat she had instantly named him, suddenly took three fast strides forwards still aiming. "It won't smash," he said. Perhaps she had misjudged the yellow streak up his back, or perhaps he was taking his courage from his weapon.

"Are you so sure?" She asked him desperately trying to stay as calm as she could. This stopped him in his tracks, Scaredy cat, well named. Libby turned to Ben. "Are you?"

Back at the transit a radio squawked into life, the driver moved away from the side window and ducked inside. That just left one of them aiming at her now. The odds were getting better. She shook the vial and Ben's eyes went as wide as saucers, but to his credit he didn't move. The other policeman moved level with him and even though he was still twenty odd yards away she could see his finger on the trigger guard of the machine gun, one twitch and it would all be over. Logan had told her the vial probably wouldn't smash if dropped, but if soldier boy here shot her she would be dead before it hit the ground anyway.

"Put down the vial," Soldier Boy commanded and moved the muzzle of the machine gun from her body to her head for emphasis. "Put down the vial, and lie flat on the ground with your hands behind your head. This is your last warning."

Libby stared into the lifeless black eyes of the gas mask, searching for anything human behind it she could connect with. There was nothing.

Back at the transit the driver came back into view, Libby could just about make out that he had a walkie-talkie pressed to the filter of his mask. He said something and the instant he did, Soldier Boy cocked his head slightly, listening. "I will shoot you," he said firmly leaving Libby in no doubt.

"Libby," Ben said. Good cop to soldier boy's bad. "He means it."

"The vial..." Libby said weakly.

"Won't break," Soldier Boy said. For a moment he just stood there aiming through those lifeless glass eyes. "Get down now!" He shouted, so harshly that even Ben flinched. He took another five steps forwards until he was within ten feet of her. He was so close now that she could hear him breathing through the mask.

It was over. It finally hit her with a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. It had been a wonderful, foolish adventure. One they had taken armed with the best of intentions. But somewhere along the way she had strayed off the path and into this nightmare and had lost Freddie along the way and God only knew maybe even Dennis as well. Libby's strength sudden failed her and she let her arm come slowly down for fear she might actually drop the vial by accident.

She looked down at it in her trembling, blood spattered hands.

"That's good," she heard Ben say from a million miles away.

Good? Libby couldn't imagine anything being good ever again. She moved the vial back and forth between her hands. Just to think, she mused, just a few short hours ago she trembled at the very thought of handling the thing even in its protective box. Now, out in the open in her bare hands it held no fear at all.

"Put it down," a muffled voice demanded.

Close by, Freddie let out a long sign.

"Jesus," Soldier Boy exclaimed and frantically moved his aim to Freddie's prone body.

"He's gone," Ben said from behind him. Even so Soldier Boy's breathing grew ragged through his mask. "Look at him, he's dead." Ben added with no little panic.

Still, Soldier Boy said; "Don't move," to the body.

Libby knew Freddie was gone, she had looked into his eyes but the spark had gone. He was dead she knew, even with everything that was happening she remembered that she had heard somewhere that a dead body sometimes sighed after death, even sat up some said as muscles that had tensed in dying finally relaxed once more. But still she watched the last of his breath misted on his dead lips, she watched it float up and wondered if it was his soul leaving his body. She blew out a long breath of her own and it mingled with Freddie's, in the vain hope that her own soul could go with him and away from this nightmare. After a brief dance, their breaths finally dissipated in the cold night air. But it didn't take her away with him; she was still there shivering with fear and cold on her knees next to her dead boyfriend with a weapon of mass destruction in the palm of her hand.

"Fuck! That shit me up!" Soldier Boy said and moved his aim back to Libby. The driver emerged from the van behind him and came out into the open. Libby held out her hands to show Soldier Boy the vial and he tensed. His breathing intensified as if he was fighting for air through the gas mask.

Ben glanced nervously from Libby and Soldier Boy to the driver who moved in front of the transit so his shadow danced across the tarmac like the silhouette of a praying mantis. Then back again. "Calm, calm," Ben counselled, but to whom Libby didn't know.

She saw the driver lift the radio to his lips, he was too far away to hear what he was said, but then a soft burst of static went off in the speaker in Solder Boy's mask. Then she heard clear as day; "Drop her."

Time slowed to a crawl. Soldier Boy took a step forwards and braced the butt of the machine gun against his shoulder ready to fire. Before she closed her eyes and waited for the end, Libby caught sight of Ben turning away his face a picture of remorse. Eyes closed now she counted two heartbeats in the darkness and wondered if she would hear the shot that killed her.

An explosion threw her backwards in a blast of fierce heat and light. And the next moment she was on her back looking up at the night sky, her ears ringing. Libby sat back up to find that the explosion had knocked her back a good three feet, it took her several seconds to process what she was seeing.

The street was now a war zone. The transit van was a twisted metal nonsense, laid on its side in the middle of the road engulfed in flames. Soldier Boy was to the side of her, his uniform was smoking as he rolled over and over screaming in pain. Off to her right Ben was laid by the side of the road amongst a scattering of smouldering debris. She could see a black shape lying by the bulk of the burning transit but didn't want to look too closely at the twisted remains that were either Scardy cat or the driver.

The heat from the burning transit was almost unbearable, she brought her arm up to shield her face then remembered the vial. "Oh, Jesus," it wasn't in either hand; she scrambled around on the ground desperately searching for it. "Oh, Jesus, Jesus."

The sound of a high pitched engine drew her attention back up the road and she saw a motor cyclist come speeding down the road like a madman, he weaved in and out of the burning wreckage and skidded to a halt just in front of her. She could see her own ragged reflection in the biker's mirrored visor and for a moment she couldn't do anything but stare up at him in disbelief.

Crazy Earl flipped open his visor and held out his hand to his prone sister. "Libby, come on!" Inexplicably she didn't move, she just stared up at him in slack jawed blankness. "Libby, it's me!" He winced seeing that she was covered in blood. "Oh, shit, Libby are you hurt?" It had all happened so damn quickly. Earl had switched off his engine the moment he saw the transit and the police man aiming his gun at his sister and had coasted the bike along the road, then without really thinking of the consequences, he had parked up and run to the back of the transit then threw the last of his C4 under the transit van then ran like hell. The blast had been larger than he had ever seen, even March Dale hadn't prepared him for the explosion that had knocked him off his feet, he was just glad he had his helmet on. But the thought that he had hurt Libby in attempting to save her twisted his stomach in knots.

Finally a gradual look of recognition came over Libby's face. She instantly burst into tears and shook her head. "It's Freddie's blood," she sobbed gesturing across to his body.

"Oh, Lib," in all the excitement, he had glanced at the shape close to her and thought it was another policeman. Earl heeled out the bike's kick stand he jumped off and knelt next to his sister. She grabbed a hold of him and began sobbing uncontrollably. "Lib, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Someone cursed over his left shoulder. Earl looked across to see one of the policemen who had been blown to the side of the road was stirring. Earl gave a quick frantic perusal of his immediate location. Freddie was dead, there was another policeman just by him who was breathing and he too looked like he might be coming around. There had been a couple of others, of that he was sure, but they had been right by the van when it went up.

Then it hit him like a slap in the face, he had just killed two people, but now wasn't the time for that now. They had to get out of here right now, or else he would have to kill two more.

"Libby, we have to get the hell out of here," he told her and moved to drag her to her feet, but she suddenly pulled away with a look of horror on her face.

"The virus," she said. "I've lost the virus."

"What?"

She dried her eyes with the back of her sleeve, smudging the grime and blood across her face and began to frantically look around. "I had it then the explosion happened, it was in my hand." She scrambled around on her hands and knees desperately searching.

"You've gotta be fucking shitting me!" Earl got up gingerly, taking care where he was putting his feet. This was insane, they had to get out of this place before the whole police force, probably with the army navy and air force as back up descended on them, but instead they had to scramble around in the street looking for a lost WMD. "This is a fucking nightmare," he said and scanned the road for the virus. "What does the fucking thing look like anyway?"

Libby got stiffly to her feet and held out a small glass looking bottle to him. "This," she said gravely.

"Oh, thank Christ." Crazy earl exclaimed. "Let's go."

"I need its box, where's my bag?" Libby said.

"Your bag? How the hell should I know?" he gently look her hand taking care to choose the one she wasn't holding the virus in. "We need to go now!"

Behind him, Earl heard the policeman groaning in effort, he turned to see he was trying to get to his knees. "Now!" he said again and rushed towards his bike, he kicked a smouldering lump laid in the road and heard the sound of metal scraping on stone. His stomach did a back flip. "Oh Jesus," he gagged. It was a smoking arm, severed at the elbow, still clutching a pistol. Without thinking about what the hell he was doing, Earl stood on the arm and prised the pistol out of its dead grip. He tucked it into his waist band and jumped on his bike with the taste of vomit in his mouth. "Libby!" He revved the engine so it screamed.

She ran towards him with a box in her hand, she put it into her shoulder bag and was about to leap onto the back of his bike when she paused a moment to look at Freddie's body. Her face screwed up with grief, and for one horrible moment Earl thought she was going to fall to her knees by her dead boyfriend sobbing hysterically. But after a moment she seemed to steel herself and then tore herself away. She jumped onto the back of the bike and held onto Earl tightly. "I got you Sis," he shouted back and kicked the bike into gear.

A shot rang out to their right as the soldier who had been sprawled across the other side of the street fired at them; he was on his knees and looked to be desperately trying to clear a jam in his machine gun.

That was all the time Earl needed, he let go of the clutch and twisted back on the throttle, the back tire squealed as they sped off, leaving a trail of rubbed behind them. Earl cursed the bike puny 125cc engine as it struggled to get up any great speed straight away. It seemed to be moving painfully slow as he weaved around the burning van and up to the junction at the end of the street, like they were riding into a thousand mile an hour head wind.

He turned right and pulled back on the throttle and kicked through the gears as the bike finally managed to pick up pace. More shots rang out off to his right as both policeman who were now on their feet were running and firing at them. Earl heard bullets zip by his head even through the helmet, and several sparks flashed on the road just in front of them as bullets tore into the tarmac. "Fuck me," he shouted and began to zig-zag all over the road in hope of avoiding any more bullets that might come their way. Libby was squeezing the breath right out of him as she held onto him for dear life, but it felt good.

Another volley hit all around them as they reached the end of the road, one more turn and the police would be out of sight. A bullet clipped Earl's helmet snapping his head violently to one side, he fought to keep the bike level and then as they reach the next junction he leaned left and changed down the gears as he took the corner as fast as he dared, the bike wobbled alarmingly as they came out of it and onto a dimly lit side street but he just about managed to keep control of it as he levelled it off.

Then Earl just rode, this part of the city was criss-crossed with darkly lit side street and industrial estates so it was easy to keep off the main roads as he got them as far as possible from the carnage of James Street. "It was Paul," he shouted back as they turned onto an industrial estate that was adjacent to the canal that ran though the city. The place had been disused for years and half the warehouses were now just burnt out skeletal shells. "He set you up. That bastard, I saw him with the police at the rally. They had him and he set you up to save his own fucking neck. Meeting at James Street was all his idea. He fucking set you up. Libby, what the hell are we going to do now?"

He glanced up at the night sky, suddenly aware that if a police helicopter was prowling they would be an easy spot, but for now the sky was empty. He thumbed off the bikes lights all the same and cruised around the estate in the dark. Half the street lights were out, but that was a blessing. The roads here were wider than normal to accommodate the articulated lorries that used to supply the once booming factories and warehouses that were now long gone, so he didn't have to worry too much about mounting the kerb as he rode and soon enough his eyes began to adjust to the gloom.

Behind him Libby had relaxed a little and eased off trying to break his ribs. "We can still make the rally," he shouted back to her again as they rode. "I say we crash the fucking thing anyway," he patted the pistol in his waistband. "They won't be expecting that." But what was he going to do? Shoot his way in, or out? It made more sense to get the hell out of the city, maybe get out into the sticks to where Logan was hiding out, Libby would know the way, and that would give them time to lick their wounds, morn their dead, and try to figure out what to do next.

"What do you think, Sis?" But Libby didn't reply and Earl realised that her hands had slipped from around his waist. He grabbed one of her hands whist steering with his other and put it back on his waist. "Christ, can you believe this shit?" He said and felt her hand slip away again, she was resting her head on his back, safe enough, a distant voice said in his head, he wasn't riding that fast now anyway. Still he reached back and put her arm around his waist again, better safe than sorry. "Yeah," he continued. "Fuckers shot me in the head," Libby's hand slipped from his waist again. Earl ignored it and felt the side of his helmet which had a large crack in it from where the bullet had glanced off. He began to slow the bike a little. "And I know what you are going to say. Where there's no sense there's no harm." He should have laughed at that, but instead he found that he was crying. He could feel his sister against his back rock and shift with each turn of the handlebars and bump in the road.

"Come on, Lib," he said, feeling a deep sickness. "Where should we go? The world is our Lobster as they say." He could hardly see now for the tears streaming down his face. He stifled a sob just in case it knocked Libby off the back. He screwed his eyes tight shut for a moment and began to gently pull the bike over to the side of the road. His throat felt like it was swollen and he was finding it hard to swallow, a large sob, that came right from the bottom of his guts, escaped him and he put both feet on the tarmac and let them slide along the road until the bike finally stopped.

He exhaled deeply and watched his breath mist in front of his face, but he just couldn't move. All he could do was stare straight ahead into the darkness. "Libby?" It was more of a sob than a word. But she didn't answer, she just lend against his back like she was sleeping. He desperately wanted to swivel in the seat to face her, to see that she was okay, just messing with him. He held his breath and listened for her breathing, and strained to feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against him. But there was nothing. "Libby, please," he pleaded.

Earl took off his ruined helmet as slowly and carefully as he could so as not to disturb her, he let it fall and it clattered to the pavement by his feet. The shock of the cold wind on his tear soaked cheeks made him gasp. "Cold," he said. And then ever so slowly he began to turn in his seat, he took a hold of Libby as she threatened to fall off the bike and then gently helped her to the ground. He laid her on the pavement, she looked so serene, truly like she was just sleeping. Her eyes were closed and she had the slightest of smiles on her face. "I hope it's a good dream," he said to her as his heart broke.

Earl lifted her up slightly and felt her back, he winced feeling a ragged hole between her shoulder blades and his hand came away wet with blood. He gently laid her back down again and just sat there in a state of shock. He knew he should be wailing now but he just felt numb, even the cold had faded away. "Sleep tight," he whispered and lent forwards and kissed her on the forehead, her skin was still warm to the touch. He gently brushed the hair from her ashen face.

***

Crazy Earl would have sat there all night, if the harsh sound of distant sirens hadn't drifted across the night air to pull him from his shallow catatonia. He sat up straight, expecting to see the street around him bathed in flashing blue light but the siren soon faded away. Up in the sky, but still some way off, a police helicopter was hovering with its search light trained down on what a quick calculation of his location told him must have been the carnage in James Street.

A sudden fury came out of nowhere and dragged him to his feet like a physical hand on the back of his collar. He kicked out at his bike in a red rage and it fell over with a crash and he let loose an almost bestial howl. He screamed at the night sky until his throat was raw and he couldn't breathe. Then before he knew what he was doing he was on his knees again, rooting through Libby's shoulder bag, he pulled out the box and opened it with such force that one of the hinges broke. He took out the virus, the cause of all this pain and death and tossed the box aside. In that moment he just wanted to kill the world, he was vengeance and hate personified. Earl grabbed his helmet with one hand and put the vial down on the pavement with the other, he raised the helmet over his head panting and crying with blind hate. It would be so easy, to send everyone to hell, he held the helmet aloft for what seemed like minutes like a headsman ready to execute the world.

"Fuck!" He screamed in frustration and threw the helmet into the deserted street. He just couldn't do it. "What do I do, Libby?" He sobbed at his dead sister. She had always been the one with all the answers, Libby always knew what to do, but she was gone now, killed by a bullet that by rights should have hit him if she hadn't been on the back of his bike. And that meant he was all alone. Earl picked up the virus and gently closed his hand around it. He tried to clear his head by closing his eyes and taking a few long drawn out breaths. What would Libby do? What would Libby do? He repeated over and over like a mantra in his head hoping that it would ignite some kind of inspiration.

As if in reply, he felt the pistol in his waist band digging into his stomach as he breathed. Earl got unsteadily to his feet, his head spinning and he took out the weapon and held it in his hand. He opened the other and the virus rolled around in his palm. Death in each hand, he thought. Two very different kinds of weapons that fate had thrown his way. But what was he going to do with them? He was alone, but as he stood there he realized he was far from helpless.

Never mind what Libby would do. What did he want? The answer was simple. Vengeance, for his dead sister, for his Mum and Dad, for Freddie but most of all for himself. He had always felt like he was nothing, always in the way always following others, but not anymore. They had tried to take everything away from him, but all they had succeeded in doing was making him the most dangerous man on the planet.

And the most dangerous man on the planet only had one thing on his mind now. "Paul," he hissed. Whether that cowardly bastard had sold them out from the beginning or after the police had caught him to save his own worthless neck the result had been the same. Libby was dead. And that meant Paul had to join her. Crazy Earl put the virus back in its broken box and the pistol back in his waist band. He picked up his bike, kick started it until it roared into life and went in search of pay back. And as everyone knows and Paul would soon find out for himself; Pay back is a mother fucker.

FRONT ROW FOR THE APOCALYPSE

Harper tried to speak but the look of pure malevolence on Logan's battered and bruised face robbed him of his voice. He choked back a breath and tried to gather up the tattered remains of his composure. "You've, you've don't it, haven't you?" he finally managed to say as his blood turned to ice water, he was shaking so much he had to use both hands to keep the pistol steady. "You've let it out. You fucking lunatic, you've already let it out." Harper had to fight the urge to just sit there and start screaming at the horror of it. All this time he had been intent on stopping those idiot friends of Logan's from getting the virus when the madman had already effectively killed billions of people. It was written all over his face and it looked something like pride.

"Like you said," Logan said in an even tone. "There was no way they would do it. God, I'm amazed they had the balls to take the vial I gave them. Mind you I put that down to the girlfriend. Stupid bitch thought she was saving the world, when in fact she and her idiot boyfriend were the vessels of its destruction." All Harper could do was gape at Logan open mouthed as the old man cocked a grin. He leaned forwards and rested an arm on the table and studied Harper's face like he was a rat in a lab. "By the way," he said squinting. "How do you feel?"

Harper felt a wave of fresh nausea wash over him and he was almost physically sick with fear, it was fear, wasn't it? "Oh, God," he uttered in horror. "You gave it to me?"

Logan laughed out loud at this; he had the insanely casual air of a man discussing chicken pox over dinner with a hypochondriac. "Lord no," he waved a hand at Harper dismissively. "I was referring to your head wound, it's seeping pretty steadily through your bandage. You really should let me change that for you."

"Logan, I am going to shoot you," Harper said flatly. And again the old man laughed.

"I doubt that," he replied. "And don't worry, I wouldn't directly infect you." He was radiating arrogance.

_Directly_ , Harper swooned and for a horrible moment he thought he was going to pass right out. But he had to admit the thought of blissful oblivion was incredibly temping compared to what his damaged brain was having to process at the moment.

"Besides," Logan continued. "You're immortal, remember?" Again that laugh, like none of this really mattered; it cut through Harper like a knife. "No, Freddie and his little gang wanted to send a message to the world about the evils of biological weapons. Well. I thought it was only right that they should _really_ carry that message themselves." All Harper could do was stare at him dumbstruck. "Oh, come on Harper, you have to admit the irony of it is priceless."

"You infected those people," Harper said redundantly, of course he had, that had been Logan's plan all along, to dupe those eco-idiots into taking the virus back to civilization, not in a vial, but in themselves. "How did you do it?" He was suddenly all too aware that he was in the exact same room they had been in only hours before, perhaps in the same chair. Was it paranoia or was he finding it increasingly harder to breathe?

"It wasn't so hard, a drop or two in the whiskey I gave them. The vial is full of surgical alcohol, I wouldn't recommend you drink it, but it's harmless enough." That God awful care free laugh again. Harper felt a spasm of rage flash though him and it made his trigger finger twitch.

Doctor Logan looked off into space. "I wonder if they actually made it to that precious rally of theirs," he mused. "Not that it really matters. Everyone they have come in contact with since leaving here are dead, they just don't know it yet. Neither will the thousands of others, who they in turn will infect over the next few hours. It's like a wonderful chain of death and one that I fashioned the first link to all those months ago." Tears welled in his blood shot swollen eyes as he thought about this. He swelled with pride, the man who killed the world. The proud father of Armageddon.

"Why?" Harper choked out.

"Fate," Logan turned his gaze back to Harper. "It's been inevitable, right from the moment I first stumbled across the formula. It chose me, Harper," he whispered in reverence. "Chose me to give it life, to help set it on its way, to do what came natural to it, what it was born to do. After that what was I supposed to do? Help them destroy it or at best keep it locked away? That would have been the true crime here Harper, to keep such a thing of divine beauty sealed away in some lab somewhere, clip its wings when all it really wanted to do was fly." His voice took on a tone of boyish wonderment as he spoke. The tears were streaming down his face now. Tears of pride, Harper noted, tears of joy.

Although the old man was looking right into his eyes, he was looking right through him. "You fucking, fucking lunatic," Harper uttered despairing. There really was no other way of describing the old man. He could put on the air of normality the way someone might slip on a uniform or a suit for work, but underneath were his true colours and they were as red as blood and lined with pain and suffering.

Logan didn't seem to hear him; he just carried on eulogising about his monstrous creation. "Extinguishing such savage, primal beauty, my terrible angel of death before it had a change to spread its wings?" He choked back more tears and Harper felt his trigger finger twitch again. "I had wanted to be the carrier," Logan continued. "As its Father and Mother it seemed only apt. But that was just selfishness. Someone who truly understood what was happening needed to watch the end unfold from the side lines, record the results. Computer simulations are all well and good, but a real live field test like this? Priceless."

Logan seemed to snap out of his trance at this and looked at Harper as if he had only just realised he was sitting there. "So then our good friend Freddie turns up, the perfect test subject. Pops up, right out of the blue. What was I supposed to do, Harper? Don't look a gift lab rat in the mouth as they say. It was just too perfect. It was fate again, like you and I sat here despite all we've been through, right at the beginning of the end. You have to ask yourself. How could all this be so wrong, when everything has fallen into place so perfectly?"

The doctor believed that utterly, it shone like fire in his eyes and that was probably the most terrifying thing. There wasn't a flicker of doubt in those grey coloured pools of insanity. He was doing what he absolutely had to do, and he was glad to do it, honoured in fact. If Harper had harboured any lingering hope that he could affect the outcome of this horror show, it was extinguished then and there.

His head lolled forwards as what remaining energy he had left fled his body in the wake of that fools hope, and it was all he could do not to fall off the chair. "Oh, Jesusss," that old familiar slur was back in Harper's voice.

"Don't feel too bad, Harper," Logan said to him with that hospital bedside tone. "You are present at a great moment in history. Perhaps the biggest since the birth of sentient life on this planet. The perfect bookend to that beginning. The end of things. So why not sit back, with me, and see what happens next?"

"There, there has to be... Some way of stopping it..." Harper said faltering. His chin was almost resting on his chest.

"There is!" Logan replied brightly. "The Doomsday Dilemma, remember? If they have the balls to use it. Of course they'll have to make up their minds soon. The first cases should start showing themselves in the next few hours," he said with glee.

"You can't be this insane," Harper forced himself to say, even though all he really wanted to do now was curl up and die. He closed his left eye and the world turned into a kaleidoscope of swirling colours, it was almost beautiful. "You'll die too, your friends, all your family... Everyone you've ever known." Harper had to open his one good eye again as nausea welled up inside him. With great effort he raised his head and looked at Logan.

"Probably," Logan replied with nothing more than a shrug. "But we all have a chance," he reminded Harper. "Remember, there's a good chance two per cent of us will survive." It was just another statistic to Logan not one of consolation. "Then whoever is left will inherit the world. They can start again. Come on, you have to admit that's an exciting prospect. The whole world has just been entered into a cosmic lottery. All we have to do is let the virus and our old pal fate decide." He clapped his hands and laughed. "And with your luck so far, Harper, I wouldn't bet against you ending up ruling the world after all this is over. If you do, you can thank me later."

Harper began to laugh, not at that sick joke. He just couldn't help himself.

"Well," Logan said. "I'm glad you find Armageddon so amusing."

Harper took one hand off the pistol and reached for the pill box, laughing all the while. He snapped open the lib and put a pill in his mouth. All that money spent each year by governments all over the world on anti-terrorism. And when the end finally comes? It comes courtesy of a nutter in a lab coat. He swallowed the wonder pill in between guffaws, but he was already starting to feel better. Laughter being the best medicine and all that.

Like Logan's beloved creation, laughter is also contagious. The old man's bemused face cracked into a broad grin until he too was laughing along with his onetime hostage.

It was a sick joke, Harper understood, and not to everyone's taste. A joke set up my Logan, but only Harper knew the punch line.

He fired once, without even aiming and the round hit Logan square in the forehead and wiped the smile right off his face. The old man's considerable brains splattered all over the wall and work surface behind him, a harsh red mess against the clinical whitewashed walls. He tipped back in the chair and clattered to the floor. Dead as ninety eight per cent of the world's population would soon be.

Harper felt nothing. He just closed his good eye and enjoyed the multi-coloured light show going off in his head as the wonder pill slowly began to take effect.

There was however one sour note that threatened to ruin his good mood. "Never did get those fucking car keys," he said. But thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, that sour note soon turned sweet.

RETRIBUTION'S PLAYTHING

"Well that could have gone better..." Crazy Earl choked out the words along with a mouth full of blood. He couldn't help but laugh, or at least he tried, but it came out as little more than a strange gurgling sound. One second he had been standing tall, the epitome of vengeful rage, the next he was flat on his back staring up at the ceiling with the harsh smell of blood and cordite stinging his nostrils and white hot pain surging through his chest.

Close by someone was screaming bloody murder, it should have been a shocking cacophony it was so raw, primal even. A life slipping away, but one going out anything but quietly. It should have made him shudder to his very core. But it was music to Crazy Earl, a lullaby to carry him off to the big sleep that surely wasn't far away. He just prayed he lived long enough to hear it fade away as death finally silenced the screamer. That would be job done.

Although it was ending as a bloody mess, it had started out so well. When Earl had left Libby to take his revenge on Paul. He was in a blind rage and not thinking clearly. It had been his intention to crash the rally, he was going to carry out Libby's wishes to the bitter end and unveil the virus to the gathered masses. But as his head began to clear on the ride back over to the university, it had occurred to him, that scenario could only have one end. Him trapped in the university hall with a couple of thousand hostages and the whole of the British police force encamped outside. Now that had its appeal. What better way to publicise their cause? But by the time he got close to the university, the rally was already over, and he had to watch despairingly as the last of the attendees filed away into the cold night air, all of them blissfully unaware that they had just missed becoming part of history.

A quick recon' around the back of the venue confirmed that Paul's car was still there. He could wait in the shadows for the bastard to come out and shoot him like a dog in the street. But he had to take into account that the two policemen he had seen with Paul earlier might still be hanging around. Besides he had prepared a whole speech he wanted to deliver to Paul before he shot him in his traitor's face.

Then it hit him. Paul would know things had not gone well when the police had confronted Libby and Freddie. He would be scared and if he had half a heart, devastated at what he had done. He would want to get away from everything; somewhere he could be alone with his conscience. A place where Earl could finally confront him without fear of interruption. He would give his speech then shoot him before he could try and bargain for his worthless life.

The Black Bull pub. That was where Paul still had an office from the old days. The place where he would go for solitude, (not to mention alcohol to drown his guilt.) That was where, where this had all really started and that was the place this was going to end.

Breaking into the old place had been easy enough. The landlord didn't live on site so he didn't have to worry about the noise he caused by smashing the back window, and the alarm system only covered the main entrance doors to the bar and storage room, it wasn't even set up to detect movement, just any idiot trying to gain access through the doors would trip the alarms. Paul's office was in the back where the old function room was. Earl snuck in through the bathroom at the back which wasn't used by the public, just bar staff and Paul and his cronies.

He crept into the main bar, stole a bottle of Jack Daniels and sat in Paul's favourite chair in his office, then it was just a matter of waiting. He cradled the pistol on his lap and went over his righteous vengeance speech whilst sipping the bourbon straight out of the bottle. He hadn't considered what he was going to do after he killed Paul, he only knew he would have to do it fast, despite his anger it wasn't going to be easy. He had killed the two policemen almost inadvertently, and certainly didn't have to look into their eyes when he did it. But all he needed to do was look at his blood stained hands, Libby's blood, whenever doubt came creeping unbidden into his mind. As an after-thought he put the box containing the virus on a table next to him in full view of anyone coming through the bar and into the room, just for dramatic effect.

He didn't have to wait long. Headlights flashed across the bar followed by the sound of a car pulling up out front. Earl tensed, suddenly stuck with stage fright and his mind went blank. Keys in the front door, then the alarms warning tone went off with a long high pitched beep. Earl shifted nervously in his seat, from where he was seated he could see through to the front door as a silhouette appeared in the half open doorway, illuminated by the cars headlights which were still on outside. He peered through as the figure began to mess with the alarm system which was situated in a grey box on the wall beside the door. The warning tone went off and the figure flicked on the lights.

Paul looked like death, he shuffled into the bar like the walking dead, his shoulders hunched and his usually immaculate hair was a mess, he looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards, weighed down by guilt and rightly so. He suddenly stopped dead halfway across the room and it took Earl a few moments to realise that he had been seen.

Earl grabbed the box, leapt to his feet and was in the doorway to the bar in a heartbeat, he levelled the pistol at Paul who gasped in stock seeing the weapon.

"Dennis..."

"Shut the fuck up!" Earl shouted at him, he held up the box and the other man's eyes widened in terror. Earl took a breath, trying to calm himself, he needed to be in control or he was likely just to shoot the bastard before he could tell him just what betraying them all had done, about how Freddie and his sister were lying dead in the street because of what he had done. He wanted to make him squirm and beg and plead, and at that very moment he wanted to shove the virus, box and all, down his traitor's throat.

He was just about to tell Paul to get on his fucking knees when all hell broke loose.

All of a sudden there were two other men in the doorway and he had just enough time to process that they were the two policemen he had seen Paul with earlier. He cursed himself for being so stupid, of course he wouldn't be alone and he had just wondered if that would be the last mistake he would ever make, when the shooting started. It all happened so fast, seemingly out of nowhere the two gate crashers had guns in their hands. They were shouting and screaming at him. Then the pistol in his own hand was blazing away and Paul's chest exploded in a shower of blood and he went down screaming.

A split second later Earl was on his back staring up at the ceiling fighting for breath with the taste of blood in his mouth. The two men were in the room, shouting about the virus, ignoring both he and Paul as they scrambled around on the floor, Earl got a glimpse of the box in one of their hands, the lid was hanging open from there he had broken one of the hinges earlier. Oops.

One was shouting; "It's okay, it's okay, I've got it, it's still intact, thank Christ."

"Call for fucking back up now," the other was hollering. "And tell them we've found their missing terrorist."

Terrorist? They must mean me, Earl thought and found that strangely comforting. Paul had gone quiet now and Earl let his head loll to one side. Paul was lying awkwardly on his side close to Earl, his eyes staring sightlessly right back at him. Dead.

That was all Crazy Earl needed to see. He died with a look of contentment on his face a moment later.

HARPER THE IMMORTAL

It was just after dawn on what looked like was going to be a beautiful winter's day when Peter Harper finally emerged from the cottage. The sudden shock of the cold air nearly knocked him on his backside, so he rested against the door frame for a few moments to get his equilibrium back. He breathed in deeply and when he was content he wasn't going to keel over he stepped out into brightening day light and took a good look around. The countryside that surrounded the cottage was still shrouded in mist and the slate grey sky had the look of snow about it. Harper caught a glimpse of Logan's car parked uselessly around the side of the cottage, he cursed under his breath. He had spent half the night searching for Logan's elusive car keys but to no avail.

"Looks like I'm walking," he said out loud to the vehicle. Harper pulled up the collar of Logan's heavy winter coat, it was a good two sizes too big for him, but it was warm. He planted his hands in his pockets and began his long walk back to civilization. What he expected to find when he got there he had no idea. "Hell of a week," he mused as he set off.

Harper felt the box of wonder pills in his right hand pocket and gave it a shake for luck. He was down to his last four tablets having just taken one before leaving the holiday cottage from hell as he liked to think of the place and the wonderfully calming effects of the drugs would soon start to kick in to help him on his way. He figured in about five minutes he wouldn't need to walk anymore as he would be floating on air. That made Peter Harper smile, drugged up to the eye balls seemed the perfect way to face Armageddon.

###END###
