For over an hour she had been jostled and bruised in the cold, cramped car boot, she felt nauseous from fumes and her belly had griped more than once. Then there was a stop of perhaps half an hour in a quiet lane, when Russell left the car and Vincent stood guard just outside her metal prison. She could hear him trying to be still and quiet. She had thought to speak softly to him, gain his trust, but had decided against it. She may get one attempt only at winning his allegiance and she didn’t want to squander it here. She moved to try and ease the burning cramp in her shoulder and was suddenly calmed by the call of an owl nearby. The sound reminded her of home, of what had been her home but probably would never be again. She, John and Amir had sat out under cold, winter night skies and told stories of souls lost to the woods by the call of just such a hoot owl.
Once the car had resumed its bumpy journey, she had briefly questioned her hasty action in placing herself in this situation. But she reminded herself that Russell was nothing if not a woman of fixed purpose and they were surely now on their way back to the Facility, the centre of the Doctor's life, and once there, Keen could get a feel for the next stage of her plan. All she knew for a certainty was the direction John was headed and all she would need was a fast car in which to follow.
Chapter Thirty
Secretary Hunt sat ramrod straight on the backseat of his US Government issue limousine, a gift from their Embassy. His driver was holding a steady line behind the armoured vehicle in front. They were travelling at speed and the road, like all the roads, was pitted. His driver apologized again for clipping a pothole. Hunt could not hear him speak because he had ordered the communicating window closed at the outset, but Hunt caught the driver’s wary glance at him in the rearview mirror. Another bump in the road, another glance of apology and Hunt raised his hand to smooth his hair. He’d have this driver dealt with when they returned to base.
He briefly wondered if the virus had somehow sniffed out and snuffed out all the intelligent people, himself aside, and had left him alone in a world full of cretins. He seriously wondered too whether it was because vast numbers of close packed cosmopolitan city dwellers had easily succumbed to the choke leaving in-bred country folk in the majority now. It seemed not unreasonable as a hypothesis and certainly explained the dip in the number of people who could follow the simplest of orders, and remain sharp about a task.
Take Russell, she claimed to be a scientist but one without a shred of rigour he decided. She had apparently called in a message, for Colonel Smith's attention, that she was returning with Mann's pregnant woman under guard, Mann whom she claimed to be a viral factory, and bringer of instant death. Russell was clearly desperate, had heard the warning he had buried in the broadcast, and had dreamed up this story to bolster her own significance. Well, he'd recently offered her a deal and she had thrown it back in his face. She'd rue that. As the gypsy girl would rue her tricky ways too. Her final grab for salvation had offered up news of Mann and his companion on the trail of a Russian. A choke dead soldier boy at an eastbound checkpoint seemed to bear this out. Shame for her that she'd first wasted his time sending a team to a China woman's shack where, she'd sworn, Mann was holed up. Mullen was definitely a loose thread to be trimmed once John Mann was safe in custody.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mann pressed his back hard into the white washed wall of Chenko’s place, keeping watch back across the garden to the chain-link fence and the beach beyond, while Gunnar jemmied the lock of a large sliding glass door. There was a sharp snap as the metal catch gave and both men froze in the silence that followed. Mann nodded for Gunnar to proceed, and Gunnar slid the door just wide enough open to allow them to squeeze through the gap into the room beyond.
They had only just crossed the threshold into the room when Gunnar stopped dead in his tracks and Mann found his way forward barred. He peered around Gunnar to see what blocked their path; in the dim lit room, a sleeping figure, slumped in a chair in front of them. A weighty man, charged with guarding the door, a rifle lay across his knees, an open bottle cradled in his arms. The sound of his soft snores and the smell of his beery breath now reached Mann. He must be deep in his cups, Mann thought, not to have heard the crack of the lock. Gunnar took a slow step forward knife raised. He approached the guard softly, as warily as he might approach a cornered dog. The guard didn't even wake as Gunnar's blade sank into his windpipe and cut off his last drunken breath. Gunnar kept his knife buried hilt deep as the sound of voices, raised in high spirits reached them from a room somewhere above. A Fawkes celebration here too? Mann wondered. Gunnar slowly removed his blade and wiped it clean of gore on the guard's sleeve then gestured for Mann to follow him as they made their way across the dark room and ducked silently through the door in its far wall.
In the hallway beyond Gunnar masked himself and made it clear that Mann should do the same. A moment later they were standing beside a bolted door at the top of a staircase that led down to the basement. The sound of sudden, raucous laughter from upstairs turned them to statues where they stood. There were shrill women's voices mixed with the growl deep voices of several men.
Gunnar leaned into Mann and whispered, ‘If David is here he’ll be in the basement.’ Mann nodded and Gunnar began to ease the door bolt back along its track, it squealed a little in protest but then ran smoothly. Both men passed through the open door onto the top stair beyond and pulled the door closed behind them. Gunnar began to descend the darkened stairs towards the dimly lit basement but Mann gently took his arm and stopped him, indicating that he’d go first, ‘If David is down there he knows you as a threat.’ Mann said and led the way down the stairs with Gunnar following, each taking time to shift their weight on a tread if it threatened to creak.
The basement was no more brightly lit than the stairs but it smelled far worse. Stale bodies, damp mould and piss were the smells Mann recognized immediately but there were worse that he didn’t want to entertain. He and Gunnar both scanned the room. It appeared to be full of wooden crates and rolls of old carpet. Gunnar nudged at Mann’s arm and pointed to a pile of dirty food plates on the floor to their left. Mann removed his muffler, ‘David,’ he called softly, sensing Gunnar tense beside him, ‘David, you know me as Father Adam Moore, a friend. I’m here to free you.’ Mann felt unconsciously at Helen's locket hanging about his neck as he peered into the gloom of the basement. A movement in gloom on the far side of the room caught his eye. A figure stood up, a child certainly but too small to be David. Another figure rose to stand beside the first and then two more. John Mann’s fear, which he hadn’t voiced even to himself, was taking shape before his eyes. Chenko would of course steal other children as well as David, if he intended to repopulate, he’d need youngsters, though these looked too young to breed. Mann looked to Gunnar for direction but Gunnar didn’t engage with John’s glance, he had a grim set to his face.
Mann called again, ‘Is there a boy called David here?’
‘No Sir.’ Came the quiet reply.
Mann was flooded with a dark foreboding. 'Here, come forward, don't be afraid.'
A boy, no more than eight years old by Mann's reckoning, edged out of the darkness towards him and as he moved forward the other three children followed in a huddle behind. They were a rag-tag group, young for sure and dirty now but they looked healthy and strong for Chenko would have no use for the sick or invalid.
'What's your name?' Mann asked of the boy.
'Nicholas.'
'Nicholas, we came here looking for a boy called David, with an injured shoulder, have you seen him in this house?' Nicholas thought for a moment before shaking his head. 'Not in any other room here?' Mann pressed, 'Do they hold other children in other rooms Nicholas?' The boy shook his head again.
A ragged doll of a girl, chewing at her thumb, asked in a small voice, 'Are we going home now?'
Her hopeful look was so pitiful it collapsed Mann's heart. He looked to Gunnar in desperation and this time Gunnar returned his gaze, and nodded.
/> Mann cleared his throat, reached into his pocket and held out a piece of paper to Nicholas, ‘It’s a map to a safe house nearby. Ma May is there and will keep you hidden until Gunnar and I return. Do you understand?’ Nicholas took the paper and nodded in reply.
Mann spoke again, to all the children, ‘Not a word from now on. Not a sound. You must all follow Nicholas. You will run fast and keep to the shadows and stay silent understand?’ All four heads bobbed in reply, ‘Good, so, now we go.’ Mann turned to Gunnar and Gunnar took a deep breath, turned, and led them all back to the staircase.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ma May moved through the dark streets back towards the church at the centre of the town. The going was slow in the drenching rain but at least the downpour kept the streets free of other people. She guessed that any leavings around the hog-roast would be ruined now but she hoped for an apple or two, or at worst some peelings for Pad.
She reached the wide throat at the top of the road that opened opposite the churchyard. She could see no townsfolk moving about, the celebration had dispersed, perhaps to reconvene in a kitchen somewhere. She could see some litter still on the ground where the roast had stood and hoped she had beaten the rats to it.
She made to cross the cobbled road when out of the corner of her eye she caught beams of bright light bouncing up and down, silhouetting trees and buildings and then disappearing briefly before lighting up the trees again. The lights were coming closer and now the rumble of vehicles reached her ears.
She only just made it into the deep shadow blanket of the church wall before the vehicle lights illuminated the whole road around. From her vantage she turned to see the dark green bulk of an armoured truck thunder by, followed a moment later by a long black limousine like she hadn’t seen since before the world collapsed, and what she saw next forced the air from her lungs. On the door of the car was an emblem of sorts, a circular crest, and a white-bodied eagle with its brown wings spread just like the one that the clouds had warned of. It was the Birdman who had come to end them all.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mann and Gunnar stopped on a half landing, where all was darkness around them save for a chink of moonlight showing through a window high overhead. Gunnar turned his pale face to Mann and pointed to a door at the top of the stairs ahead. Mann nodded in response, and the sound of muted voices leaking through the door ramped up his heartbeat.
'Before we do this,' Gunnar whispered, 'a question eats at me. You and Keen, you are lovers? Mann looked at Gunnar in disbelief. 'It's been troubling me,' Gunnar continued, 'I mean, could you...? Can you even...?'
Mann gave him a dark stare.
Gunnar persisted, his laughing eyes searching Mann's, 'You haven't ever have you? Shit in a pint pot, no wonder your face is always winter bleak.' Gunnar stifled a laugh and the wrongness of the moment made him laugh harder.
Mann turned away from Gunnar, stung. 'I'll need to know David's fate before you kill Chenko.'
Gunnar's mirth died on his lips. 'As neatly as that.'
'Why not?' Said Mann.
Gunnar smiled, but grimly now. 'Perhaps a prayer for us then?'
Mann paused a moment before replying. 'I left my collar in the road.'
'You only dressed the part?' Gunnar waited for an answer that Mann didn't offer, so he dug into a side pocket of his trousers and produced Mann's dog collar that he'd retrieved from the gutter where Mann had thrown it. It showed a dirty, stained white in the gloom. Gunnar held it out with a trembling hand, pressing it on Mann until he reluctantly took hold of it.
'Then pray for me at least.' Gunnar urged.
Mann held Gunnar's hopeful look for a moment and then in one smooth and practiced movement he affixed the collar back at his throat. He looked again into Gunnar's eyes and saw fear where he'd only before seen bravado glint. He searched his mind for words of comfort such as he'd heard and learned by rote at the Abbey. But he found nothing hopeful or uplifting only dark words coloured by the darkening day that he didn't expect to see the close of. Neither could he recall one whole prayer together only tattered snatches of psalms.
'Oh Lord, make haste to help us.' Mann breathed in a whisper, 'Let them be put to confusion and shame, our enemies who would seek our lives. Let them be turned backwards who wish us evil.'
Chapter Thirty-Four
Gunnar's fist slammed into Mann's jaw with jarring force. Mann's head snapped sideways and he staggered backwards. The youngest Russian, Uri, jeered with delight, his older brother, the pockmarked Feo, looked on with a flicker of uncertainty. Chenko's face betrayed little, his one good eye hidden in shadow.
'He is stubborn,' panted Gunnar, 'but his temper will break.' He drew back his arm again and pumped it forward in a feint, Mann ducked to his right but he met with a surprise arcing uppercut from Gunnar's left fist. Mann grunted in pain as the blow landed and wheeled him over backwards and he fell heavily down onto a low table, scattering empty bottles from its surface.
His head rang and he pulled in ragged breaths through his nose. If it fills with blood, he thought, I may drown. He was fighting for what air he could get to fill his lungs. A wide, short length of black sticking tape covered his mouth and was sealing it shut. 'I would not bring a cobra to the party un-muzzled.' Gunnar had reasoned, out on the half landing, as he had fixed the tape in place over Mann's mouth before he had set about binding his hands behind him. The knots looked more secure than they were. As Gunnar told it, Mann could free his hands with a tug when he needed to but Mann knew that the task would not be so easy in reality. He could wriggle his hands free but it would take time, time he doubted Chenko or his brothers would gift him. Singly each would be hard to over-tip in a fight, as a pack they would snap his spine inside a minute. That much was apparent from the moment Gunnar had pushed him into the stinking fug of the room.
They had burst in with a loud shout from Gunnar, but his words were lost beneath the bawling of the men in the room, the shrieks of the women and the mad scrambling of all. Mann and Gunnar stood stock still at the edge of the uproar, Gunnar with his blade to Mann's throat, its cold pressure biting hard into his flesh. Mann took in the scene before him with broad sweeps of his eyes. They were in a long, wide, high-ceilinged room with the only doorway at their back and huge shuttered windows at the far end of it. Heavy wooden chairs, tables, wardrobes and day beds were pushed back against the walls to clear a centre space. The tables were cluttered with empty bottles and covered in a dusting of ash, the fall out from the thick pall of weed smoke that hung in the air.
Five women dressed in flimsy scraps of lacy cloth had scattered like a squawking gaggle of geese and then gathered again in a group before the shutters. The four men had leapt to their feet, adjusting their clothes and shouting curses of anger and indignation. Two had come up with pistols, trained now on the room crashers. All four men were family for sure, thought Mann. They all shared the same wide brows and deep-set, crafty eyes, and all were built large. One looked clearly younger than the rest, with only sparse hair on his chin. One had a pock-ravaged face, one had reacted more swiftly than the others in producing his gun but had so far remained silent. And the last, or perhaps the first of them, thought Mann, had a wall-eye, milk white and opaque, but his one good eye glittered like jet in firelight. Mann knew this was Chenko in a moment of seeing him and with a dead certainty.
When Mann and Gunnar had pushed into the room, Chenko had thrown off a fat girl astride him on the day bed and he had climbed slowly to his feet. Mann had caught sight of a bite mark on the girl's breast as she'd scrambled to regain her feet and reach the safety of the shadows with the other women. Chenko had not retreated one step from any threat that these strangers might pose him, and neither had he looked to his brothers for support or protection, that was assumed, whilst they had all looked to him for their lead. His arrogance might just be his weakness, thought Mann.
'The evil conceits of their minds know no limits. In their arrogance they threaten oppression.'
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br /> Gunnar went unrecognised at first as a foot soldier who'd been sent to secure a preacher but had returned only with a wounded boy. 'I took my orders from Bailey.' Said Gunnar, and Feo confirmed to Chenko that Bailey had organised two teams of men to fetch back the two preachers they had had word of. 'I thought the boy might act as bait,' Gunnar continued, 'and the preacher proved an easy mark, after you departed he walked blindly into my trap.'
Chenko eyed Gunnar with contempt. 'Put up your knife.' He said calmly. Mann detected only a slight accent, enough to peg him as Russian, enough to clip his words but not enough to mask their threat. Gunnar's blade hesitated at Mann's throat for a moment more before he lifted it clear and high above his head in surrender.
'How do you come to be in this room?' Chenko asked.
Gunnar cleared his throat, 'I know Sam at the gate.'
A moment passed in silence and then Chenko laughed, a barking, mirthless laugh that rocked his shoulders. It had the effect of raising the tension in the room rather than easing it, and Mann watched the women shift uneasily. Chenko licked his lips, 'Step away from the preacher.' He said. Mann felt Gunnar tense behind him.
'He needs close guarding.' Gunnar said, and Chenko's brow furrowed.
The Darkening Days of John Mann Page 8
