‘Fan out. Stay within visual range of each other at all times. We know who we’re looking for. Lockland and Parrish will almost certainly be unconscious by now so you need to look for them. Check everywhere. Under trees, behind rocks, inside caves. Look for disturbed snow. Footprints. Blood, even. You won’t be surprised to hear that someone’s given Parrish a good seeing-to, because we all know what a gobby bastard he is, but he’s our gobby bastard, so find them. Go.’
They fanned out, trudging through the snow in pairs – one officer to check visually for signs that anyone could have passed this way, and the other to consult his equipment.
Grint and Rossi both set out for the stand of trees at the foot of a black cliff in the distance. The light was going and Grint could feel the temperature dropping. It was hard to see how either of them could still be alive. Especially if Parrish was injured. The scent of blood would carry in this clean, cold air and there would be plenty of predators about looking for a quick and easy meal.
Grint pulled out his torch and shone it around. The snow glittered in the bright light. Over to his right, Hansen and Kohl trudged through the snow, heads down, checking every inch.
The cold was intense. The wind moaned rather than howled. A miserable, lonely place inhabited by people he hadn’t liked the look of when they were safely behind bars. The thought of encountering them out here in this bitter twilight . . . He couldn’t wait to get out of here. History – you could keep it.
Knee-deep in snow, they ploughed on.
Beside him, Rossi stopped, shining his torch on the ground. ‘Are these footprints? I know the wind’s covered them over but . . .’
At the same time, their proximity meters bleeped. ‘Over there,’ said Rossi. They struggled up the slope. ‘Can’t see anyone,’ he said, panting. ‘Trees too thick.’
They flashed their torches about. There was no one here but the meter was still bleeping.
The same thought occurred to both of them. ‘They’re under the trees. Here.’
Grint and Rossi moved from tree to tree, carefully lifting the snow-laden lower branches. And there they were. Luke and Jane huddled together, their faces the same colour as the snow. Deeply unconscious. Probably dead.
About to investigate, Rossi found himself knocked sideways. He sprawled in the snow as Grint literally clambered over the top of him.
‘Jane. Jane. Can you hear me?’ He opened his com. ‘Major, we’ve got them. Rossi, alert the medics. Tell them to get heat sheets ready.’
‘They’re still alive?’
‘Unknown and no time to investigate. Get a couple of others over here to give us a hand.’
Hansen and Kohl appeared, running clumsily through the snow.
‘Right, let’s get them out. You three take Parrish. I’ll see to Jane. Be aware – handle them gently. Don’t rub or chafe their skin. You know the drill. OK, let’s get them off the cold ground.’
‘Their clothes are wet, sir.’
‘We can’t undress them here. Let’s get them back to a pod asap. Keep them as flat as possible. Gently now.’
Grint scooped up Jane and set off, leaving his grumbling team to manhandle Luke Parrish.
‘Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to take Parrish?’ enquired Kohl, stumbling under the combination of an unwieldy Parrish and knee-high snow. ‘Lockland probably weighs less than an After Eight mint.’
‘Yeah,’ grinned Hansen.
‘What are you grinning at?’
‘Nothing.’
Slipping and stumbling through the snow, they made their way back down the slope. Grint carrying Jane, Kohl and Hansen carrying Luke. Rossi was on his com, alerting the medtecs. Who had a pod door open, ready for them.
‘OK – set them down here. Are they alive?’
Hansen shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Right, let’s get this wet clothing off them. Quick as you can. Out, you lot.’
Grint and his team were chivvied from the pod.
‘Heat pads to groins and armpits,’ instructed the medic. ‘Lowest setting. We want to warm them, not cook them.’
Grint’s voice sounded in his ear. ‘Is she alive?’ There was a pause. ‘Asking for Commander Hay.’
‘Yes, they are. Barely. We aim to keep them that way. Now let us get on with it.’
Back inside the facility, Callen was reporting to Hay. ‘They’ve found Lockland and Parrish, Commander.’
‘Alive?’
‘Unable to say at this moment. If they are, then it’s only just and they might not be for long.’
She nodded. ‘Keep me posted. Whichever way it goes, I want to know.’
He looked at her. ‘Did we know they were here?’
‘I did, yes.’
He regarded her for a long moment and then said, ‘Do you want me to make arrangements for a detention pod to transport the illegals?’
‘No.’
‘Are we – will we dispose of them . . . here?’
A ripple ran through the illegals’ ranks. Imogen Farnborough, who had just hauled herself to her knees, began to cry again.
‘No.’
‘Then . . . what, ma’am?’
She pitched her voice so it could be heard by all. ‘We leave them here.’
There were shouts of protest. Imogen Farnborough began to cry properly. ‘You can’t do that. My mother will . . .’
‘Will never know. To the rest of the world you were released from prison and disappeared from sight. Just another missing delinquent. No one will weep. Not even your mother.’
‘But I’ll tell you everything.’
‘I already know everything.’
Imogen suddenly looked sly. ‘No, you don’t.’
‘Oh, I think I do.’
Callen lowered his voice. ‘Commander, do you mean . . . ?’
‘Yes, I do, Major. Having seen this sample of their work, I think the sooner these specimens are removed from the gene pool, the better for humanity, don’t you? We leave them here. Unless you have any better ideas?’
He surveyed the prisoners still herded into a corner. For a moment, his eyes lingered on Farnborough and Geoffrey. ‘No, I don’t think I do, Commander.’
Ellis felt compelled to speak. ‘Ma’am, we blew out the door. The electrics will be fried. They won’t be able to shut themselves in and once the indigenous people find out . . .’