by J. D. Weston
Stone Army
A Stone Cold Thriller
J. D. weston
Contents
1. Freedom
2. Over the Hills and Far Away
3. Gallows Pole
4. Red House
5. Run Like Hell
6. Trampled Underfoot
7. Learning To Fly
8. No Quarter
9. Us and Them
10. When the Levee Breaks
11. Communication Breakdown
12. Comfortably Numb
13. Dazed and Confused
14. High Hopes
15. Stairway to Heaven
16. The Great Gig in the Sky
17. Little Wing
18. Stone Free
19. Bold as Love
End of Book Stuff
A Note from the Author
Also By J.D.Weston.
Stone Cold
Stone Fury
Stone Fall
Stone Rage
Stone Free
Stone Rush
Stone Game
Stone Raid
Stone Deep
Stone Fist
Stone Army
Stone Face
Free Starter Library
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Acknowledgments
1
Freedom
Headlights shone like two dying suns at the far reach of Gabriella’s vision, growing closer, burning brighter, and blinding her watering eyes. It was as if a searing needle had penetrated her visual organs and found the sensitive nerves cowering behind. Beneath her feet, the ground rumbled, silent but growing in intensity like the rising chaos of a stampede.
She turned to face the sound of breaking branches, barking dogs and men’s voices, which had raised to a fever pitch. In the darkness of the forest, Gabriella saw torch beams cutting the night, leaving no escape except onwards across the railway tracks and into the unknown.
A distant scream pierced the blackness somewhere far away. The barking of dogs changed from the howl of an excited hunting pack to snappy snarls as they cornered their prey and pinned it to the ground.
“Donna,” whispered Gabriella.
A faint cloud formed when she spoke as the night air met her warm breath.
Another scream sounded followed by frantic struggles as, somewhere in the darkness, her friend fought off the dogs. A dark image formed in Gabriella’s mind of the German Shepherds she had seen prowling the fence line of the laboratory. She saw an image of the pack, excited by the hunt as they tore at Donna’s clothes, their teeth clamping down on her hands and arms, pulling her to the ground, their ferocity far outweighing that of the men who followed her with torchlights.
In front of Gabriella, two sets of railway tracks ran left to right from the coast to the mainland. Beyond the tracks, the ground fell away to fields and a forest columned by the night; dark outlines against a dark sky. Somehow, after her ordeal, the black unknown beyond seemed calm and safe in comparison to what lay behind. But something made her stand still. To cross the train lines and escape into the darkness would mean failure. But returning to the hunting dogs and torchlight men would mean certain death.
Some voices called out to others that they’d found one. Gabriella hesitated, undecided. A single gunshot into the air, followed by the lighting of a flare, marked the spot. The searching torches turned and headed that way, bouncing through the dark forest. The flash of the muzzle and burning flare found its way to Gabriella’s watering eyes, registering enough danger to trigger the carnal instincts to run and find help. But a stronger fear of failure glued her to the spot.
“We got one,” called a voice. “Find the other one. She went that way. She can’t be far.”
That voice. The voice that taunted Gabriella’s drug-fuelled dreams and darkened her miserable days.
A torchlight span in a wide arc close by. It shone through the trees, tracing Gabriella’s path through the long grass and up onto the embankment where she stood, frozen to the spot. The vibration beneath her feet was accompanied by the grumble of an approaching train.
The heavy pounding in Gabriella’s chest amplified the sound of her breathing. She could feel the drug working. Whatever it was, it fuelled the familiar rush of blood to her head, the invincible surge of energy that coursed through her body, and the trembling of what felt like every muscle in her body, holding her taut like a runner on the starting blocks.
A man broke through the trees. His beam of light cut the darkness like a long, straight snake. The dark form was unmistakable. Broad square shoulders. His head cocked to one side. The swagger of a man who feared nothing.
That man.
He was different to the others. He was cruel, with a voice that violated Gabriella and the girls, and with eyes that did more than undress her; they seemed to tear at her clothes just like the dogs tearing at Donna.
His torchlight found Gabriella. It blinded her and fixed her to the spot. There was no need for words; she could sense his leering grin behind the light.
In the distance, the dogs silenced, and a group of torchlights flashed in all directions as they began their hunt for Gabriella. The dark man in front of her glanced back as if he was considering calling out. But he changed his mind and returned his attention to his quarry.
His prize.
Gabriella took one step back. Her bare foot found the track, cold and hard, but buzzing with energy like the muscles in her body that tensed and relaxed with adrenaline.
Gabriella held his stare. The man responded with a look, daring her with silent taunts to run and inviting her to him with unheard charm. He gave a flick of his eyes to the distant oncoming train. She saw his delight in the sight of her last remaining seconds on earth, half-naked, scared and broken.
“It seems to me that you have three choices,” he said.
An agonised scream came from the woods behind him. But it wasn’t a scream as Gabriella understood the word. It was more of the final, anguished wail of a tortured, dying girl, and a submission to death.
“Three choices?” said Gabriella.
She shunned the sound of her friend’s death from her mind, seeking solace in the growing rumble beneath her foot.
“First choice,” said the man, “you can run. You can cross those tracks and run like you’ve got the devil on your heels and he’s mad as hell at you. But you won’t get far. I know those fields like I know the skin on my hand. I’ll find you before you even break for breath.”
The concentrated torchlights in the forest dispersed as each of the men spread out to find Gabriella. A slice of light lit the side of the man’s face, revealing a knowing smile that he had her all to himself.
Dogs barked in the trees to her left, where Gabriella had stripped and run through the freezing stream. The men called out, whooping with delight and joking that the last girl was already naked. Removing her clothes was intended to buy Gabriella time and throw the dogs off her scent. But the screams of Donna had stalled her escape.
“Second choice,” said the man, “you can come down off the embankment. I’ll give you my coat and I’ll take you back. No-one will hurt you. I can assure you.”
“Just like nobody hurt Donna?” said Gabriella.
But the man responded with a shrug.
Rounding the long bend, the headlights of the oncoming train swept across the trees, then lit one side of Gabriella’s body. The rumbling beneath her foot intensified, vibrating through her body, and the sound of the horn broke the night as if marking her two choices. Run or return.
“And what’s option three?” she asked between horns, shouting above the noise of the approaching train.
The torchlight flicked off.
In the darkness, only shadows and dark shapes moved. The head
lights of the train passed by the tree line, lighting only the grass, the tracks and Gabriella herself, growing wider as the train thundered closer.
Another horn as the driver urged her to move.
The ground shook with a pulse matching Gabriella’s heartbeat.
But she stayed.
A backward step would commit to the run, triggering the man and the dogs into action. A forward step would admit defeat. He’d take her into his lying, devilish arms and use her for the evil he’d been dreaming of since that first day. Then he’d kill her.
But staying on the tracks offered her only real chance of escape, to a place where even he couldn’t reach her.
But death would mean failure.
Another horn, louder and longer.
The squeal of brakes as two hundred tons of steel anchored, spraying great washes of sparks into the forest.
“Option three,” he said, appearing beside her from nowhere.
He smiled the smile she’d seen a thousand times in her dreams, in her waking tortured days, and now, as death held her in its bony grip. The surprise caught her off guard. She stepped back, and stood centrally between the tracks, where he seemed to dare not follow.
With half his face lit by the approaching train, he leaned across to her with an outstretched hand. “Don’t be stupid, Gabriella. Come with me.”
But Gabriella smiled and closed her eyes, letting peace find her, bringing with it the calm that allowed her to focus on cherished memories. She searched through her life in just a few seconds. An image of her father smiling in his garden as he stopped turning the earth and leaned on his garden fork to admire her, fanning himself with his wide-brimmed hat. Her brother shooting her a wink as he led Gabriella from their home on one of their many adventures. She would sleep in the car. Francis would drive then wake her up when they had reached the destination. Each time it was a different location, carefully planned and designed to enthral young Gabriella. Sometimes it was the beach. Sometimes Francis would park at the top of a hill to look down at the rolling forests below. They would sit and drink coffee from a flask and perhaps eat a croissant.
On one occasion, Francis had taken her to Paris to see the Christmas lights, but the memory was snatched away before she could relive the moment.
“Gabriella,” called the man.
Her name came to her as he haunted her last treasured moments on earth. The images of her loved ones faded away, but without regret.
The train horn sounded once more, loud and urgent.
The beat of the tracks moved the ground on which she stood.
And the drug that coursed through her body woke every living cell, firing energy into every single muscle.
“Gabriella,” said the man, his hand clutching for her arm.
Another loud horn. The headlights, as bright as the sun, held the two of them in limbo. The ground, the trees, the whole world, was white.
His outstretched arm.
Those evil eyes.
Men burst from the forest behind him and stopped as the train bore down on her like a raging beast. She had just one second of life remaining. One second to deny evil its glory. One second to cherish living.
“I die for France,” she said.
Then ran.
2
Over the Hills and Far Away
Thin, wispy branches of willow tore at Harvey’s face as he broke new trails on the river bank in the South of France. But even the stinging slices to his face weren’t enough to deter him or provoke a stumble. The rhythmic beat of his heart in time with his pace was enough to force him on, pumping harder, striding longer. The faster he ran, the harder his heart thumped.
A fallen tree blocked the path but he hurdled it with ease then ran down to a stream. His foot found the cold water; it splashed up his leg, fresh and cool. Beyond the stream was a long uphill stretch, littered with saplings and thorny bushes. Finding his way through without breaking stride was tough, and his legs took the brunt of the attack. Sharp pointed thorns dug into his skin and carved deep cuts across his legs. But with his arms pumping, and his mind fixed on reaching the top, he forced himself forwards, pushing the pain aside and focusing on one step after the other.
At the top of the hill, a narrow path led through the trees. It was a regular route for dog walkers who had trodden the path to a flatbed of dry mud. Even the trees had allowed a route through them. With every ounce of energy left in his legs, Harvey ploughed on. His downhill strides increased in length as gravity took hold. Then he broke through the tree line at the foot of the hill and entered a wide open field dominated by long grass and wildflowers.
The gate at the end of the field was just a dot. It was a goal to reach like so many other gates in Harvey’s life. A place or a time where he passed from one field to the next. One battle to another. One life to more life.
The dog walkers’ pathway circumvented the wild grass at the edge of the field, beside raspberry and blackberry bushes and dotted with rabbit holes. But Harvey stormed ahead, as he’d always done, forging his own way through the field, through the battles, and through life.
A glimpse of sun marked the end of the morning twilight. It was Harvey’s favourite time, when enough light spilled across the earth to see the day after the night. But few did see it every morning.
For the last three hundred metres, Harvey gave everything he had. He searched deep for some pocket of power that his body had stored, some piece of mental strength that he needed now, to push harder than before.
Harvey slammed into the gate at full speed, using the flex of the wood to absorb his momentum. Then, with his hands raised behind his head, he stretched while gaining control of his pulse. A single bead of sweat ran down his face, hung from his chin, and then fell away as he lowered himself to his knees. The thunder of his heart in his ears eased to reveal a new sound, foreign to the early morning. The nearby thump of twin rotor blades grew closer as his body quietened. In the sky to his right, above the raised railway embankment, a helicopter hovered against the dawning sky with a bright spotlight washing from side to side and heading his way.
Dogs barked and deep voices called out, anxious and angry, like the voices of military men.
The five-hundred-yard walk back to his small house was Harvey’s warm down. In his younger years, he would have run the entire way. But with each passing year, the warm down seemed to be getting longer. Harvey didn’t mind. The time gave him thinking space. But the circling chopper was growing closer with each step. Whatever the police were looking for, Harvey wanted nothing to do with it. There were only three hundred yards to the main road, where Harvey could cross the small country lane and head into the fields to his small farmhouse by the beach, where a log fire would warm him and the views of the Mediterranean would occupy his mind.
He ducked beneath a copse of trees as the helicopter made a pass. The noise was deafening in the early morning silence. But it faded as the helicopter circled back towards the railway, giving Harvey a window to escape to the forest and into the fields behind his house, leaving whatever was happening behind him.
The roof of his house was visible through the trees and beyond the road. A thin wisp of smoke from the chimney, barely visible in the half-light, let Harvey know that the logs in his fireplace would need replacing.
Approaching the road, with just a wide ditch to hurdle, Harvey sprinted to make the jump, launching from his right foot and stretching out with his left leg.
But something stopped him mid-jump.
Two hands reached up and caught his foot then dragged him to the ground, where he slammed gut-first into the far side of the ditch. He rolled in time to see a girl throw herself at him. Her contorted face was a mix of anger and terror, and her muddied fingers were outstretched, ready to rip at his throat.
Harvey rolled to one side, avoiding the wild girl’s hands, then doubled back to pin her down. She landed with his leg across her back and his hand on her neck, forcing her face into the mud.
“Le
t me go,” she begged, her voice muffled by the long grass. “Please. Let me go.”
“Who are you?” said Harvey.
But the girl hesitated.
Harvey pushed harder.
In the distance, the thumps of the helicopter’s rotors grew louder.
“Are they looking for you?” said Harvey.
Again, the girl failed to respond.
But as the helicopter grew closer, with surprising strength and agility, and in one smooth move, the girl twisted from Harvey’s grip until they were face to face. She then slipped beneath him, like a slippery eel, and dropped back into the ditch.
Harvey spun around to find her pulling the long grass over herself and sitting with her back against the wall of the ditch. The helicopter slowed then dropped to a hover, sending loose grass and debris scattering across the field.
Harvey climbed to his feet as the chopper came down, then brushed the mud from his legs, catching the girl’s wide, fearful eyes as he did.
A silent plea for Harvey’s silence.
The helicopter doors opened on both sides.
Harvey glanced at the girl.
“Please help me,” she mouthed.
“Find her,” screamed Cassius Kane, before sweeping the contents of his walnut-wood desk onto the floor.
“We’re trying, sir,” said Jones.
“Someone is going to pay for this,” said Kane. He kicked his desk telephone across the room and stepped out from the mess. Then he turned and raised a single index finger at Jones. “I’ve got one dead girl who looks as if she’s been eaten by dogs and one missing girl who knows enough to have us put away for life. Everything the law would need to lock us up for good is in that girl’s head and running through her veins.”
