Them or Us

of the roof.
    “Hinchcliffe, you really need to listen,” Llewellyn says again.
    “Do I? And why would that be, Llewellyn?”
    His once-loyal fighter swallows hard and anxiously shifts his weight from foot to foot.
    “There’s an army coming,” he says, quickly changing his story to try to dig himself out of the hell-sized abyss he’s suddenly gazing down into. “Look, there was nothing I could do. They found us and—”
    I’d like to have heard the rest of his bullshit and lies, but Llewellyn isn’t even allowed to get to the end of his sentence, let alone finish his story. In a movement so sudden and unexpected that I don’t realize what’s happening until it’s done, Hinchcliffe drops his shoulder and charges into him, sending him flying over the edge of the roof. There’s a moment of complete silence—everything everywhere seems to stop suddenly—then I hear him hit the ground. There’s no need to look, but I don’t have any choice. Hinchcliffe puts one hand around my shoulder, grabs hold of my arm with his other hand, and pushes me toward the edge. Below us, Llewellyn’s body lies impaled on a spiked metal railing, dangling down by its legs, head cracked open on the concrete like an egg. “Nasty,” Hinchcliffe says. Bastard. Llewellyn was supposed to be getting me out of here, but at this moment in time I don’t give a shit about him, I’m more concerned about what Hinchcliffe’s going to do next. The tightness of his hold on me increases. I start to struggle, but he’s far stronger than I am and there’s nothing I can do. I try to dig my feet in, hoping I can get a grip and overbalance him, because if I’m going down, this fucker’s going with me. He moves a hand and grasps the back of my neck and pushes my head farther forward until I’m leaning right over.
    “Hinchcliffe, I…,” I start, not knowing what I’m trying to say, fighting to keep my balance and not fall. He suddenly pulls me back, spins me around, pushes me away, and laughs at me.
    “Just playing with you!”
    “What? But I…” I stagger away from him, trying to quickly put maximum distance between us.
    “Don’t worry, son,” he says, “I know the score.”
    “Do you?” Fuck, I wish I did. I move away from the edge of the roof, still backing away, and he follows me toward the door that leads back down into the building.
    “I knew that fucker was up to something,” he explains. “I’d had my suspicions for a while, but all that business with the plane really sealed it for me. Did he think I was stupid? Llewellyn was a hard bastard and he had his uses, but he wasn’t nearly as smart as he liked to think he was. Honestly, did he really think I’d buy all that bullshit about piling a few pals into a van and driving off to find that fucking airplane? Come on, give me some credit. That was one of the reasons I sent you along, too, to screw things up for him and complicate whatever it was he was actually trying to do.”
    “ One of the reasons?”
    “Yeah, that and the fact I knew there was a good chance you’d end up back here again. I knew you’d help me fill in the blanks. Our pal Llewellyn and whoever he was working for, they’re not the only people who like to indulge in the odd spot of subterfuge and double-crossing. When I sent you all out the other day, I sent Curtis after you. He followed you into Norwich, stuck around long enough to see this so-called army that’s supposed to be coming, then came back and told me all about it.”
    “What he saw was only part of the army. There are reinforcements coming. Thousands of them.”
    “Do you believe that?”
    “Why shouldn’t I?”
    “Because I’ve seen them, Danny. I’ve got people out there watching. They’ve told you thousands, but there are just a few hundred of them loitering at either end of town. Ask yourself, if they were as all-powerful and all-conquering as they’d have you believe, wouldn’t they have conquered already?”
    “I suppose, but—”
    “It’s all spin, trying to make themselves seem more impressive than they actually are. Who’s behind all this?”
    “Remember Chris Ankin?”
    “Chris who?”
    “He used to be in the government.”
    Hinchcliffe thinks for a second. “Ahh … I’ve got him. Works and Pensions minister before the war, wasn’t he? Just another mouthpiece in a gray pinstripe suit. All talk and no balls. Pathetic. Thing about people like that,” he continues, “is that you should never