Fractured: The Fracpocalypse Book 1 Read online

  ***

  The sound of the crash startled the two men, both of whom were sat at a table much like the one in Drake’s room. A ragged deck of cards and two Glocks were strewn across the scratched and faded surface.

  “Better go talk to the wee scrote before shit gets out of hand,” moaned the first man.

  “Alright, Fergus, but remember we bloody need him. Be fucking careful,” replied the second man as he stood up, the chair screeching along the concrete floor as he knocked it back.

  “Aye, I’m always careful,” Fergus said with a wink as he grabbed his gun and checked it was loaded.

  ***

  Drake, who was still highly dazed, raised his fists towards the door that creaked open. He could about make out two, or was it three guys walking through.

  “Alright, lad, ye can put those down. We need to talk,” Fergus said, hands raised, walking towards the defensive Drake.

  “Who the fuck are you, and where am I?” Drake shouted, fists still raised, trying to refocus his vision.

  Fergus calmly responded, “Drake, you’re in London, year 2020. We believe you shifted here less than twenty-four hours ago. We have been searching for you for almost two years,” Fergus continued.

  Drake listened intently.

  “We have been tracking temporal shifts; the same off-the-chart readings show whenever you seem to pop up. We almost found you six months ago; then you vanished. We assumed you shifted again.”

  This was more information than Drake had ever seemed to find out about his glowing issue.

  “Shifted… that’s what it’s called, hmm.” Drake was trying to size up whether or not these guys were truthful. “Who was trying to kill me when I arrived here?”

  Fergus looked at his friend and sighed. “Right, Chase, this one is for you.”

  Chase looked at Fergus, nodded and told the story to Drake. “They are a shadow organisation, we have no idea of their name or leader, but they always show up at the same temporal anomalies we do. We think they’re searching for you too.”

  Drake thought on this for a second, and it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to take him out shortly after a so-called shift, and these guys weren’t pointing guns at him, so…

  “What do you guys need with me?” Drake spoke after a good minute of silence, his nausea almost gone and vision clearing nicely.

  “We think you may be connected to an incident two years ago, and I’ve got a mess to clean up,” Fergus said. His shoulders and eyes dropped as he said this, and Drake noticed the sadness in his eyes. “You and the anomalies started popping up at the same time, so we think it’s all connected. We need to figure out how, why and whether or not I caused it! So for starters, what the fuck is going on with you?”

  Drake wondered for a moment whether to tread carefully here or to tell them everything he knew. On one side, it would be bloody fantastic to have allies, but then if they had their agendas, what would that mean for him? He didn’t even know these guys.

  “Right, let’s slow down, gents. You kidnapped me, and now you want my help.”

  “Well, actually, we accidentally ran you over, then saved you.” The man called Fergus shrugged.

  “How about I get to know you first before I start pouring out my life story.” Drake started to pace across the room.

  “You’re right. We technically did kidnap you less than twenty-four hours ago.” Chase spoke. He looked at Fergus, who scowled back at him.

  “We saved him. Anyway, I am Fergus McCarthy. I was a pseudoscience physicist working with a Dr Forrest.”

  Drake’s eyes shot wide. “Wait, did you say Dr Forrest as in Brendan Forrest?”

  Fergus looked at Drake, pure confusion in his eyes. “Er, yeah.” He glanced at Chase. “He disappeared two years ago in the same incident we’ve been talking about.”

  Drake laughed. “He’s my fucking employer.”

  Fergus practically collapsed onto the nearest chair, his breath ragged and eyes wide with shock and confusion.

  Chase grabbed him by the shoulder and looked back at Drake. “Fuck nay, what a load of mince! We thought he was dead. How is that possible?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’ll tell you what I can.” Drake coughed on his hand to clear his throat. “Two years ago, or ten years from now, whichever way you want to see it, a vast tech company hired me to check out an old disused facility not far from where you grabbed me. I was tasked with seeing whether it was still operational because energy spikes were being picked up for the first time in a long time, and my employer was concerned.

  “While I was there, I found nothing. However, as I was leaving, I noticed a hatch in a wall that was slightly ajar, so I followed it down to an underground facility. One room was filled with what you would call modern technology, computers, screens etc. The other room was completely fucking empty, no tables, no tech, nothing.”

  Drake grabbed another chair, spun it around and sat down. “This is where shit gets weird.” He wiped his brow and laid his hands on his thighs. “As I was about to leave, I could feel a ridiculous amount of static in the air. The room felt like all the air was being sucked out, but I couldn’t move. It was… mesmerising. I managed to snap myself out of it and backed away, but as I did, out of nowhere a, well, I don’t know what it bloody was, but a crack appeared right through my left arm.”

  Chase groaned. “Well, fuck me.” He nudged Fergus. “It sounds like the fracture opened right on to…” Chase was interrupted by an explosion on the upper levels. The building shook. Dust and dislodged bits of debris scattered across the room.

  “What in the flamin’ bawbag!” Fergus shouted.

  Drake and his two new acquaintances jumped to their feet, covering their eyes, and hastily headed toward the stairs in the next room. Fergus and Chase drew their guns, checked the mags and cocked them ready.

  “You might want to hand mine back.” Drake tapped Fergus on the back and held out his hand.

  Fergus nodded and pulled out the Glock that was hidden down the back of his trousers. “Cheers. Now let’s fucking shoot pricks.”

  They headed up the stairs slowly, one at a time. Fergus reached the top and let out a breath. He looked back at Drake, and Chase nodded, then proceeded to peek through the door. It made the lightest of creaks, and as it crept open, more dust and smoke bellowed through. They could hear the crackling roar of a fire and see the orange hue against the wall opposite. Fergus was the first to burst through, gun raised, pointing down the hallway, scouting the path ahead. He took a few steps and signalled the boys to follow. Chase took up the rear and covered their backs. Drake and Fergus worked in tandem, taking a corner, signalling and working their way down the leftmost corridor. The roar of the fire produced a lot of heat, forcing the boys into a sweat. Fergus shouldered the door on the right and nodded in its direction.

  Drake readied himself, took a step back, and with one good kick, he booted the door open. Fire and smoke blasted out in such fierceness that Drake and Fergus staggered back, the thick smoke drying their eyes out in an instant. The room that used to be a lobby was now ablaze. Not a single feature of the room looked like the run-down old house it was. The windows had imploded; smoke blackened the worn architrave ceiling. It had all given way to the fire.

  “Shit!” Drake muttered. “Let’s head back.” It got tough to see and breathe, and the thick smoke had clogged up their windpipes and clouded over their eyes, threatening to choke them before they even found a way out. They had to crouch low to be able to keep their heads and gather a remnant of oxygen. They turned back the way they came and took the corridor to the back door.

  Fergus peeked and took a step out, only to be met by a welcome party of bullets, and he dove back round the corner, bullets shredding the wall behind him. As soon as the cacophony of bullets subsided, Drake took a step out, raised his Glock and fired off four blind shots. He was instantly met with raucous, fully automatic gunfire tearing into what was left of the wall. The gunfire ceased.
They had sprayed around thirty bullets each, and Drake knew he had maybe five seconds while they reloaded. He ran in the direction of the door and burst through the smoke in a tactical slide. As he cleared the smoke, he saw the two assailants on either side in his peripheral vision. He raised his left arm and fired two shots sideways underneath it, taking down the guy on the left. Drake twisted mid slide and took the second guy out with a headshot. The gunman’s head cracked back, splattering the fence with blood and brain matter. His body followed into a heap on the ground.

  Fergus and Chase barrelled out of the smoke after a few seconds, guns drawn. Fergus went left and Chase right. Chase dropped his guard when he saw the guy painted on the fence.

  “Damn, Drake! Ya didnae tell us you were an assassin.”

  “Well, army, so I suppose in a way it’s the same thing.” Drake inspected the chamber on his gun, yanked back the slide and holstered it in the back of his jeans. “2038 till 2048, 1st Rangers followed by a stint in Special Ops.”

  Chase followed suit with holstering his gun.

  “This is going to get bloody confusing.” Fergus laughed. “Glad to fucking have ya, Drake!” He strolled over to the back gate that was in the middle of the greying, mostly broken fence. “Van’s out back ’ere. We should fuck off.” He reached up to the rusted bolt and slid it across, then led the way down a set of weed-riddled concrete steps, sirens blaring gradually closing in the distance. Cars could be heard on the main road around the corner, braking, accelerating and honking. Fergus pulled out the keys and thumbed the unlock button. The black van’s lights flashed twice and beeped, the high-pitched sirens getting louder as they closed the distance. As they climbed into the van, the whirr of a helicopter’s blades added into the mix.

  Fergus took the driver’s seat, buckled up and twisted the key. The engine juddered to life. Drake pulled his gun out from the back of his jeans and slid onto the passenger seat. He placed the gun on the scratched grey dash amongst several cans of Coke and sandwich wrappers, which he swatted aside. Fergus looked over and grimaced. “I should probably clear that out once in a while.”

  Chase jumped in the back door and slammed it shut. With that, Fergus slammed the van into first and took off. He caught the biting point, shifted up to second and launched the van out of the back road, narrowly missing a big red bus. They got no more than a mile up the road when they could hear the helicopter above them.

  “I’m rather concerned about that,” Chase said. He pulled the catch on the back door so he could get a better view. “They’re tailing us.”

  Drake had the window rolled down and was leaning out slightly. “Think you’re fucking right.” He snatched back his Glock and partially leant out the window. “Take a right and head towards the bridge; see if they change course.”

  Fergus nodded, pulled off the accelerator, shifted down to second and screeched around the next right, shoved the gear back into third, then fourth and flew up the road at 60 mph.

  The helicopter seemed to have continued, the whirring blades sounding more distant. “Well, look at us paranoid bunch of twats!” Fergus eased off the accelerator and had to swerve to avoid a black cab that pulled out. He slammed the horn three times while shouting obscenities, and shit hit the fan. With no warning this time. The helicopter came back into range. It was much lower and directly in front of the van. The side panel opened and revealed two guys clad in all black, sporting an SA80 each. In sync, they both pulled the guns to their shoulders, aimed down sight, ready to line up their shots.

  “Fucking left now, Fergus!” Drake sent the last four bullets from his mag hurtling toward the chopper, all of which bounced off the chopper’s shell. Click, click. “Shit, Chase. You got a mag?”

  Fergus swung the van left, sending Chase hard into the side of the van. The torrent of bullets that followed tore holes through both sides of the van. Chase bounced off the side and threw himself back to the floor as low as he could get. Sunlight poured through the countless holes.

  “I got nothing! Fergus, get us the fuck out of here.”

  Fergus hurtled down the streets, weaving through the London traffic, and cars parted on the roads to the sound of the van’s over-revving engine and the chopper’s gunfire. The van was being thrown left and right like a dodgy fairground ride.

  Drake had his hand on the handle above the door when it started to glow. “I’m going to shift!”

  “How long?” shouted Fergus, trying to beat the sound of gunfire and an over-revving van.

  “Few minutes, give or take. I’ll take you with me. It’s a safer bet than this.” Drake threw his arm out, signalling the shit storm they had found themselves in.

  “Fergus, he’s right. It’s our only choice.” Chase had propped himself up against the back of the two front seats. “What do we do? Is it even possible!?”

  Drake looked at his arm, which was now almost completely red. “Chase, grab my shoulder. Fergus, take my hand.”

  “I’ll never let go, Jack!” Chase laughed, and Fergus scowled back at him.

  “Really, a Titanic quote at a time like this!”

  They did as he said, and a few seconds later they could all feel immense amounts of static coursing through them. They were heading toward London Bridge when the chopper came down in front of them again. Cars on the bridge parted like Moses parted the Red Sea.

  “Ahhh, shit, RPG! Drake, if you’re gonna shift, fucking do it now.”

  The RPG was launched, the smoky kickback filled the helicopter’s cabin, and the rocket hurtled toward the van. Screams from the civilians bellowed from every direction. Finally, Drake’s arm turned entirely red, and they felt a diversity of feelings all at once, from the impact of the rocket to the increased electrical current pulsing their skin, to the full heat of the explosive.

  Chapter 3 – Hell

  For what felt like an eternity, Brendan was being pulled through a cavernous blackness, electricity pulsing through every single fibre. Every cell in his body was torn apart and rebuilt over and over thousands of times a second. That was what he expected hell, if it existed, to feel like—never-ending torture of nothing yet everything.

  He didn’t even feel it when a slight resemblance of reality came back. He wasn’t even sure if he was standing or lying down. All he knew was that the molecular-level torture had stopped, and he couldn’t open his eyes. Eventually, his senses came back to him, starting with touch. He could once again feel his fingers and toes moving. Cold? He was sure he felt cold. As his body began to reconnect to his brain, he could feel he was lying face down on a hard surface. He tested the waters and tried moving his arms. Slowly they decided to go, along with his willpower. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and forced his eyes open. His brain finally listened to what he wanted.

  What he saw was terrifying beyond all comprehension. The world around him was a barren wasteland and broken. He was sure he was no longer on Earth and wondered if Hell had taken him. What was left of the buildings were shells, crumbled and broken. The sky was a bitter orange hue, although he could see no sun. As he looked up, he realised why; it was engulfed with dust or smoke filling the space where clouds once lived. A sharp, beautiful bolt of lightning would strike every few seconds, followed by a thunderous clap.

  He knelt there in pure wonder and terror, hoping this wasn’t real and he was passing. After a good ten minutes, his body felt like its usual self. He clambered up to his feet and looked around more intently, wondering what on Earth or Hell he was going to do. After a lengthy thought process dissecting all his years of genius science knowledge, he realised he would find no answer, all his expertise now failing him.

  Minutes, hours, he had no idea. Time passing seemed like a distant thought when there was nothing and no sense of direction. Was he walking in circles? Had he already passed the leftover remnants from what looked like it could have been a hotel?

  He became aware that he was parched, confused about how his intellect had not picked up his basic human needs. A cha
nge of tactics was now necessary—no, essential. On his way past the hotel, he saw a row of similarly messed-up buildings, searching for any clue with his eyes. Finally, he spotted something and was filled with a glimmer of hope. A few buildings down through the dusty, smoky haze, he was able to make out a partial print from what was left of an orange sign. He burst into laughter, manic crazed laughter, and didn’t even spare a thought on if anyone or anything could hear him. “Fucking Sainsbury’s.” What he thought was an understandable statement came out in a dry splutter. With a shake of his head, he placed a hand on the crumbled archway and climbed through.

  He knocked debris and shattered glass out of the way with his foot. He stepped in and glanced over the ruins. Inside had nothing reminiscent of the store he once knew. Half the building was completely missing, and the parts that hadn’t collapsed on themselves had been overtaken by ruin. One and a half rows of the shelving still stood, no longer in neatly placed aisles. Dust caked every surface, thick like humans had left it for a long time. He carefully climbed over fallen rubble and parts of the store, eyes probing for something. Anything.

  As he scrambled over a particularly jagged piece of fallen ceiling, piercing, agonised inhuman screams filled the air. There was more than one, more than two sources even, all intertwining to create the awful shrill. Brendan jumped out of his skin and turned his head. This caused him to lose his balance. As he fell, he reached out for part of the shelving, which collapsed with him. Brendan landed hard on rubble, which knocked the wind out of him. As he was gasping for breath, the domino effect from the shelving that fell with him caused a clattering that was sure to attract attention. Simultaneously he covered his eyes and mouth from the filth that was disturbed and frolicking around him. Pain and weariness took their toll. Brendan could feel himself drifting away. His last thought, wishing he would now wake up.