Red Shift

“Yeh, we’re your mates. It was OK. Quit worrying.”

“Brilliant mates. All brilliant mates.”

“You were right, kid. I saw nothing.”

“I saw.”

“Saw what?”

“Blue. Silver. And red.”

“What’s with this blue and silver? You ever had it before?”

“When I was a kid. Pain. But then it was—Hell, there ain’t words.”

“Like you flipped?”

“But I didn’t go,” said Macey. “Blue and silver – makes me so chickenshit I can’t remember whatall next. It was changing. But when – that guy – killed him hereabouts – when I killed him – on the road – blue and silver – I freaked – but I could see him, what I did – but there was two hands – pressing at me – a long way off against my eyes – and then near – and then noplace – big as all there is. Sir, I don’t think I’m too good for this unit any more.”

Magoo appeared among the trees. “Nothing,” he said. “And there’s no guards.”

“Skived back to Chester,” said Logan. “I’d like to see their report!”

“I don’t figure they’ll be making none. Sir.”

“Why?”

Magoo smiled, and went back towards the road. Logan followed.

“They’ve taken the bodies.”

“Reckon?” said Magoo.

They stood by the road. It was empty and straight, the cleared ground on either side hid no one.

On the road, blood still moved. It lay in patches for a hundred metres. The guards had tried to run. There was nothing left.

“Did you hear?” said Logan.

“No.”

“What, then?”

“We’re past Crewe. Like you said.”

“Back on sanctuary. Quick.”

Buzzard was hurrying to meet them as they crossed the ditch. “Sir! Face and me: we’ve found the shrine. It don’t look healthy.”

“Show,” said Logan.

They went into the birch wood. Every tree had rags tied to it: in a clearing they came to a spring, and around it were offerings of human heads.

“What tribe?” said Logan.

“Cats.”

“But the trees are Cat totems.”

“Look at the spring, sir.”

The water emerged from above a line of clay, but recently, so recently that the earth had not crumbled, the bank had been cut back to hold a stone through which the water ran, and the front of the stone was carved as a snake, opened mouthed.

“How do you read?” said Logan.

“Not more than a week old,” said Magoo, turning a head between his hands. “The stone’s new.”

“Reconsecration,” said Buzzard. “By the Mothers. They’re moving south.”

“Stand to. All arms,” said Logan. “At the double here.”

“Yessir.”

They brought Macey and the pack mule.

“Alternative analysis?” said Logan.

“None, sir,” said Buzzard. “This is a Mothers snake, and those heads are Cats.”

“Will they be near?”

“Unlikely,” said Face. “They’re scared of their own sanctuaries. They’ll come if they’ve any Cats to sacrifice.”

“You and Magoo stand sentry,” said Logan, “but listen. All of you get this, and get it good. The guards have been taken out, maybe not by Cats. The Mothers have come south. They’ll raid the Cats wherever they find them, and both sides will whip our ass if we let them. Solutions.”

“The usual,” said Face. “Divide and rule. Hit the infrastructure.”

“Correct. All right? We retreat until we’re clear of the Mothers, then we go tribal.”

“What about you, sir?” said Buzzard.

“I can pass. I know enough to get by, but when things stabilise here, we’ll have to settle for one dialect.”

“There’s only one,” said Magoo, and laughed. “Who’d’ve thought the Ninth would end up as frigging Mothers!”

“We’re still the Ninth,” said Logan. “But we’re fighting a different war.” He pulled out the snake from the spring mouth and broke it. He left the pieces as they lay. “Bury the heads. Then move. Single file. South-east. Kill on sight.”

“What with?” said Buzzard.