Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  Hamsa nods and takes another sip. “I want to cut the head of the old man.”

  “The old man?”

  “The one who looks like Thor.”

  Khaled snorts. “He’s not old. Only about fifty, perhaps less.”

  “That’s old.”

  Khaled sighs.

  “What about you? Which one do you want to kill the most.”

  Khaled snorts with derision as the faces of the men and women who’d fought him rise in his memory and tug at his rage. Her face is the one that he keeps coming back to. “I want the girl.”

  “The girl with the crossbow.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what will you do to her?”

  “Everything.”

  SARAH HOLDS A HAND over Joe’s mouth, his tears wet against her fingers. His body shakes. A floorboard creaks. “Did you hear that?”

  “They’re outside the door,” Gabe whispers. “Two went downstairs but there’s still one on the landing.”

  Sarah’s heart beats hard, a sharp tap, tap, tap against her ribs. Though her hands tremble with fear, a deep rage is whirling in her belly, a deep anger that wants to rip the men to shreds. How dare they come into her house? How dare they terrify her children? Joe pulls at her hand.

  “Don’t make a sound, Joe. Promise?” He nods his head in silent agreement. As she hugs her to him, he buries his head against her breast, shuffling his body tight to her side. How dare they! How dare they scare her baby like this. “Which way did Amy go?”

  “She went into her bedroom.”

  “They didn’t find her,” Sarah whispers back. “We would have heard if they had.”

  “Please don’t let them find her,” Joe whispers. “Please, God, please don’t let them find her.”

  “Shh!” Sarah soothes. “She’s a smart girl. She’ll stay hidden.”

  “What do they want?”

  “I don’t think they want us. They would have broken down the door if they did.”

  “Looking for food then?”

  “Probably, and something to drink. It’s what I’d do.”

  “You’d never do this.”

  Footsteps clatter up the stairs and Gabe raises a finger to his lips. They wait in silence. Whoever was out there wasn’t bothered about being heard now. Raised voices babble on the landing.

  “Arabic,” Sarah says with confidence. She doesn’t understand what they’re saying, but she’s heard it spoken; holidays to visit her father in the middle east, whole summers spent in the Gulf states, had familiarised her with the guttural words. She wished now she’d taken the time to learn the language. The footsteps clatter again then disappear down into the kitchen. Sarah listens as kitchen doors slam and drawers are pulled open. “They’re looking in the cupboards.”

  “Food.”

  “They won’t find much; we’re out of about everything.”

  “Maybe they’ll go then,” Joe suggests, squeezing his arms tighter around Sarah’s waist.

  “Maybe so.” But will they be satisfied to leave empty-handed?

  The house becomes quiet with only the sound of deep and muffled voices from downstairs. Gabe stands. Sarah reaches to grab the waistband of his jeans to pull him back, but drops it, and instead holds Joe tighter. A floorboard creaks under Gabe’s weight. He stops, waits, then steps up to the window.

  “Someone’s outside.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Trailing them had been easy, even in the dark. They capered across the field, black against the grey of the wheat, and when the field rose to meet the horizon they were creeping silhouettes that disappeared through the hedgerow and into the garden of one of the isolated houses that sat between the town and the next village. The homes were vulnerable. The men would know they were being hunted. The people inside unlikely to be prepared for an attack.

  Soft lights glow in the kitchen as Jessie scans the house and front garden. A man appears at the window of an upstairs room.

  “We’ve been spotted.”

  “The face is pale—must be the owner.”

  A window opens slowly. The man leans out. He mouths his words in a stage whisper and jabs at the ground. “Men. Downstairs. In the kitchen.”

  Jessie puts a forefinger to her lips, then signs ‘OK’, and ‘stay put’.

  Taking the lead, Bill steps onto the driveway and crouches next to the low shrubs. The downstairs window to the left of the house flickers with light. Two figures sit hunched at the table. Sipping from glasses, animated in conversation. Laughter! The animals are laughing! She crouches low. “What are they saying?”

  “I’m not sure. My Arabic is weak at best. He cocks his ear to listen. Jessie questions the deepening frown.

  “What?”

  He remains silent. Listening.

  “For crying out loud! What?”

  “He’s talking about what he’s going to do to a woman.”

  “And?” She shrugs her shoulders.

  “He’s talking about what he’s going to do to you.”

  “To Jessie?” Alex questions.

  “Me?” Cold prickles at the back of Jessie’s neck.

  “Yes. And the other one keeps talking about ‘Thor’, which I guess is me.”

  “They can talk all they want-”

  “They won’t touch a hair on her head.”

  Bill pulls Jessie away from the window and they move towards the front door. In the distance a car’s engine hums. The vehicle moves slowly. The road remains dark, headlights switched off.

  “Uri?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “We need to put these men out of action.” Alex raises on his haunches to look inside the window once more then turns to Bill. “Taking them back to the town was a mistake.”

  “It was, Alex, but Sam had the best intentions.”

  “Best intentions have screwed us over.”

  “We’re here to put that right. This time no prisoners. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Jessie?”

  “Agreed.”

  The car’s engine stops. A door opens but doesn’t close.

  NOISE CATCHES KHALED’S attention. It wasn’t the family in the bedroom and it wasn’t Hamsa standing guard at their door. It came from the room above his head. “There’s someone else in this house.” Khaled sits his empty glass down on the table. Movement catches in his peripheral vision as a figure runs past the window. He grasps for the kitchen knife, scrapes back the kitchen chair, and runs to the stairs.

  How could he have missed it? The pain in his leg has made him sloppy—it isn’t a mistake he’d make twice.

  In the bedroom, the noise of movement comes from inside the cupboard. He reaches for the door handle and stops as noise from outside catches his attention. A car. It’s engine hums then dies. They were here. He would have to act quickly.

  Coat hangers jangle.

  He pulls open the door and punches with a broad fist. Knuckles hit bone. A body slams against the wall. He twists his fingers into long hair, and pulls. With a scream, a girl appears from the dresses and coats hung in the cupboard.

  “Shut it!” Khaled’s fingers tighten through her hair. “Stupid bitch. Shut it.”

  He drags her across to the landing to where Hamsa screws up a sheet of paper and stuffs it at the base of the bedroom door. He rips at a packet of firelighters and stuffs them between the newspaper. Its content spill as Khaled pushes the girl to the top of the stairs.

  “Make the fire.”

  Hamsa pats at his jacket pocket and shrugs.

  Khaled grabs the jar of light from the window sill and pulls the girl. He passes the jar to Jay. “Light it.”

  Jay looks from Khaled to the girl.

  “Light it! Now.”

  Jay takes the jar. The girl kicks Khaled’s damaged shin. He yells in pain. His grip loosens and the girl pulls away, staggers into Jay and knocks the jar from his hand. It rolls to the carpet. Khaled lunges, grabs the girl and yanks her back. The bedroom door opens
.

  A man, his face full of rage, appears and a woman’s voice screams from behind. “Amy!”

  “Stick him, Hamsa,” Khaled orders as he yanks the girl away from the door, a knife held firmly against her throat. Hamsa lunges as the man’s boot is kicked into his stomach. The boy staggers back, rights himself, then raises his arm and stabs the knife down at the man. It hits home, piercing his chest. The man staggers back as the woman screams and Khaled drags the girl down the stairs. Smoke curls from the papers. “Jay, close the door. Set that lot on fire.”

  Hamsa joins him at the base of the stairs. “Three outside and a car waiting in the lane.”

  The girl bucks. Khaled yanks at her hair and slices at the skin across her neck. She grunts and quiets. “Take care of them.”

  Hamsa disappears to the back of the house. The heavy scent of burning paper mixes with the noxious odour of kerosene as the firelighters ignite.

  The girl squirms.

  JESSIE REACHES FOR the bolt in her pocket as the front door smashes open. It knocks against the fretwork porch that frames the pretty entrance and rose petals float like confetti. A young girl, blonde hair bunched up by clenched fingers, is pushed forward. A knife sits at her neck and blood glistens at her throat. She whimpers as the hand pulls her hair higher and forces her to step to the edge of the porch. Her fingers clasp the man’s hand, desperate to pull the blade from her skin.

  Alex crouches beneath the window.

  Screams erupt from the upstairs and a bedroom window is thrown wide open.

  “Fire!”

  A figure appears behind the girl and her captor. That’s two. Where’s number three?

  Jessie trains the bow on the man holding the girl. He stands in the shadow of the porch, hidden from view by the roses and honeysuckle vines. She waits for the glint of moonlight on his temple as he shifts. He takes a step down.

  Movement to the right catches her eye. The flash of a blade. Jessie trains her sights on the man as he steps forward to Alex. The bolt hits the man, piercing his chest beneath his raised arm. He staggers forward, the bolt blocking the stabbing motion, and falls against the wall.

  The terrorist holding the girl steps down into the driveway. “Bring the car.”

  Silence.

  “Bring the car to me or I kill the girl after they die.” He jabs the knife at the upstairs room. Smoke curls from the window.

  Bill walks out of the driveway and disappears down the lane. The car’s engine thrums, a door slams and headlights shine. The figure of the man, his arm now wrapped around the girl’s throat, the blade sticking into her ribs, is illuminated as the car swings into the driveway. Bill steps away from the car and moves to stand with Alex as the terrorists walk with the girl to the car.

  The boy yanks the back door open and the older man pushes the girl’s head down, forcing her inside the car. She pushes back, a foot against the lip of the door frame.

  A woman, hair dishevelled and clutching a boy to her side, steps out from the porch. The boy coughs, breaks free from her arms, and runs down the steps. “Amy!” he shouts before being yanked back up from the final step. The woman makes a prison of her arms as they lock around his chest.

  Jessie can’t let them take the girl. “Take me!” She steps away from Alex. “I’m the one you really want.”

  Alex grabs her arm as she takes another step towards the terrorists. “No!”

  The terrorist stares at Jessie then continues to push the girl towards the car.

  She has to stop him. “I’m the one who killed Bin Sayeed.”

  His head whips round and their eyes lock.

  “Give the girl back and you can have me instead.”

  The man makes no response though he continues to stare.

  She has to make him understand. “Give girl to mother.” Are they stupid? “Take me.” Still no response. Jessie takes another step forward.

  “Jessie!” Bill’s voice is angry. “What are you doing?”

  “Dangling a carrot. You said they were talking about what they wanted to do to me-”

  “If you knew what he’d said then you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I want the girl back. The way he’s touching her makes my skin crawl. They’re foul bastards. You know what they’ll do to her—she’s just a kid.”

  Bill grunts.

  “Let me do this. I know what I’m doing.” She turns back to the men. “Take me.” The terrorist grunts, shakes his head, then pushes at the girl, forcing her into the car.

  Jessie won’t give up. “I’m the one,” she calls, goading now. “I’m the one who skewered Bin Sayeed on the railings outside Parliament and I’m the one who watched your friends beg for mercy as they pissed themselves on the bridge.”

  He swivels to stare again, his teeth clenched.

  That’s right, get angry. Get real angry. “I’m the one who put the noose around their necks. I’m the one who pushed them over the edge.” His teeth bare. Come on! Jessie returns his glare and smirks as she takes another step forward. She raises her voice and laughs. “It’s me you want.” She pats her chest. “I’m the one who made them squirm like maggots on a fishing line.”

  The man growls with rage and pulls the girl back to her feet.

  That’s right! Hand her over. Jessie takes another step towards the terrorist. His eyes bore into her. “I’m the one.” Her voice is only just above a whisper, seductive, willing him to release the girl. “It’s me you want.”

  His lips in a snarl, his eyes narrow, and he shoves at the girl. “Throw down your weapons.”

  Jessie throws her bow to the ground though every cell of her being wants to launch herself at the man and rip him to shreds with her nails.

  “You,” he shouts at Bill, and Alex, prodding his knife at them in turn. “Stay. I kill the girl if you try anything. Karim, check the woman for weapons.”

  THE YOUNGER MAN PATS at the woman’s limbs, hovering over her breasts, sliding his hands down her sides, then slipping them between her legs before rolling up her trouser leg and removing the knife strapped there. He takes it and throws his down to the grass then stands and holds it against the woman’s belly. A length of white cloth tie her wrists behind her back and her ankles are hobbled.

  “In the car.”

  Without any attempt at defiance the woman slides into the back seat. The younger man, knife in hand, follows. The door slams shut. Sarah’s heart pounds. The tip of the knife is still pressed to Amy’s ribs and a dark patch of blood is seeping into the fabric of her t-shirt. Bastards!

  “I kill her if you come after us.”

  Amy squirms then squeals as the man’s arm tightens around her neck.

  “No!” Sarah screams as Amy splutters. The terrorist takes a step back to the car pulling Amy with him. “Please! Please let her go.”

  A smirk, thick with hate, spreads across his lips as he pushes the blade between Amy’s ribs. She screams and then seems to fly as the man shunts her with a violent kick away from the car. As she stumbles, he jumps into the car, reverses it with a squeal of tyres, then disappears down the road.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jessie’s scans the petrol forecourt as they pull into one of the remaining parking spaces. On her last visit, there had been a few cars shoved into the hedgerows and the parking bays had been mostly empty. Now they were full. The skin on her neck prickles as a queasy nausea twists at her guts.

  “Hassan is here!” Khaled shouts and bangs his fists on the steering wheel. “Now we will avenge our brothers, alhamdullillah.”

  The boy is slow to reply. Jessie watches every movement of his face. There was a sullenness and despair about him. “... Insha’allah.”

  The car comes to a jolting stop, and the contents of the boot thud. Khaled throws open the door and strides across the forecourt, his voice carrying above the excited jabbering of the other men. The younger man remains beside her.

  She’d listened intently to their conversation during the twenty minutes it had ta
ken to reach the petrol station. To her surprise, the boy didn’t speak Arabic. The older man had seemed angry towards him, the boy’s replies wary, though desperate to placate. The boy doesn’t move, just watches Khaled as he gesticulates, jabs towards the car then jabbers to the others. Jessie leans forward slowly, peering at the dashboard—the keys dangle in the ignition. Getting them is her only hope. Her wrists chafe against the rough cloth. Her chances of escaping the group of armed, and probably trained, men, is next to zero. She closes her mind to failure, and what that would happen before they finally killed her, and turns to the boy.

  “Karim, you can get out. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “You said that without an accent.”

  “I’m from London.”

  “You’re a long way from home then.”

  “... Yeah ...”

  Jessie keeps a watchful eye on Khaled. “I bet you’re looking forward to getting home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You kind of seem ... like you don’t belong here.”

  The boy sucks breath in through his nose and closes his eyes. When they open, Jessie makes her play. “Do you? ... Belong here?” Their eyes lock, Jessie’s heart pounds; he may be her only chance.

  “No!” His shoulders sag. He breaks her gaze. “I mean ... hell—this is hell.”

  Khaled takes a man by the arm and leads him away from the larger group, deep in conversation.

  “At first it was a way to protect myself—in prison—you either joined them or they’d come for you—make your life ... Jesus!”

  “You joined them when you were in prison?”

  “Yeah. I was doing eight months in Olney for GBH. I dipped a kid in the park—he was asking for it though.”

  “Dipped?”

  “Yeah, with a shank—a knife. I knifed him.” He quiets. “In Olney it’s the prisoners who rule and there’s a lot of them in there—they gang up on you. Joining them,” he gestures to Khaled, “you get through the days.”

  “But you’re here? Once you’d left prison you could have-”