Blood Kin

by Matt Hilton

  He raised his right heel and tapped the side of his boot. ‘I’ve got all I need right here.’

  He caught a tremor of concern in Tess’s eyes. ‘Promise me you won’t use it unless it becomes absolutely necessary,’ she said.

  ‘I might need to force a lock, or cut a fence wire,’ he said, explaining why he might need his knife. ‘Don’t you fret, Tess, I’m not goin’ in there lookin’ for a fight.’

  ‘Po, I think I know you well enough by now. You might not go in looking for a fight, but you won’t turn one down if it finds you.’

  ‘This is about rescuing a mother and child,’ he said, ‘not about getting my kicks. I’ll behave, I promise.’

  ‘You’d better.’ She kissed him briefly. Then she held him by the front of his jacket. ‘You have your cell phone on, right? Yeah? Make sure the ringer’s off, but keep it on vibrate, in case I need to reach you.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever happens in there, whether you find them or not, I want you to come back here within two hours. If you don’t, and we don’t hear from you, I’ll have Pinky take me back to the hotel, we’re getting those guns and we’re following you in.’

  ‘I hear you.’ He took out his cell, and set it up as instructed. He frowned at the screen. ‘Signal strength’s kinda poor, Tess.’

  ‘There should still be enough to send a text,’ she said.

  He wondered if there would be enough for her to plot his course on the locator app she’d had them install on their phones, her real reason for having him keep his switched on. He didn’t mind being spied upon; in truth, it made sense that he should make things easier to find him should his mission go sideways. He bumped fists with Pinky. Then he gave Tess another reassuring peck on the cheek. ‘See you in no time,’ he promised, and immediately turned away and loped off towards the riverside.

  He was hidden in darkness from those guarding the bridge. He took a moment to check them out and noted that they were still engaged in conversation. Really, they didn’t need to be hyper-alert. Anyone approaching the bridge would normally arrive by car and be denied crossing by the sawhorses. If anyone attempted pushing aside the blockade, the guards would have plenty of time to retrieve their guns from the car before they could proceed across the bridge. Po had to also consider that their lack of attention was due to the commune having other forms of covert security in place. There was no sign of CCTV at the perimeter fence, but that wasn’t to say it didn’t exist. He must be warier than first thought.

  Upriver the Muller waterfall was situated on the Moorcocks’ land, but the river below the falls extended out of the property, then ran adjacent to it for several miles. Some smaller waterfalls were features of the river as it dropped in elevation out of the foothills. In places the river cut through high-sided canyons between massive boulders tumbled there by raging flashfloods during epochs gone by. As he closed in on the point where the river foamed between the rocks, Po thought he might have overestimated his athleticism, that or the rocks were further apart than his earlier vantage point had suggested. The gap between the two gnarly rocks was at least nine feet. On the flat, taking a running jump into a sandpit, it would be no problem for him, but these were not ideal circumstances. His take-off would be after a short run, and his landing onto jagged stone; waiting below was tumultuous white water that would thrash him downstream, throwing him mercilessly against more ragged boulders should he slip and fall. He was a strong swimmer, but there’d be no fighting against the river’s power, and he’d drown and be pounded to chuck against the rocks.

  ‘So don’t fall in, lunkhead,’ he said.

  Pep talk over, he clambered up the nearest of the boulders, and crouched there a moment as he scanned downstream towards the bridge. It was barely visible in the dark, plus the contours of the land blocked most of his view of it. He was confident the guards wouldn’t observe his jump. He next checked upriver, where there was no sign of observers or any surveillance equipment. Lastly he gauged the distance he must leap: yeah, at least nine feet, and worse still, the rock opposite was taller than the one on which he was perched. The jump would be a son of a bitch to make, but Po wasn’t for turning back. He checked his pockets, securing everything down, and lastly dipped to his boot and ensured his knife was secure in its sheath. He backed to the furthest edge of the boulder, and rose up and down on the balls of his feet as he figured out his best approach for the leap. Three steps and he’d be at the edge, and then there’d be nowhere to go but into space.

  ‘Don’t fall,’ he commanded again, and before he could allow doubt to set in, he sprang forward, legs pumping.

  He hurtled into the air.

  His boots hit rock, but at a sharp angle, and he churned his feet for purchase. At the same time his palms slapped down on the top of the boulder, followed a second later by his chest. His wind was knocked out of him in a long pained exhalation. Gravity grabbed him and tried to peel him backwards off the boulder. He dug in with his fingertips, seeking fissures and protrusions, and finally caught himself. His fingernails felt as if they’d been prized from at least two of his fingers, and his palms were barked raw. Using the discomfort to galvanize him, he scrambled for footholds and pushed up and heaved his body on top of the boulder. He lay there for a moment, catching his wind, before gathering his feet under him and standing. His instinct was to check back to the place he’d jumped from, and he saw that returning that way might not be any easier, but for now it was his single escape route. Next he checked downstream: there was no indication that the guards at the bridge had heard or seen him scrambling for his life. He was, however, too prominent atop the boulder, presenting too much of his figure against the night sky. He quickly clambered from the perch and onto the riverbank on the commune’s side of the river. Thick, untamed woodland encroached on the riverbank. The terrain suited him. Po dug out his cell phone and rapidly typed a text message to Tess. It surprised him that she hadn’t accompanied him to the river crossing, but he was glad she hadn’t. She’d have been mortified witnessing how close he’d come to disaster. He kept his message short and sweet, so there was less chance of worrying her: I’M IN.

  BE CAREFUL, she replied needlessly.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Po entered the woods. Earlier he had studied the maps and schematics of the commune that Tess had found, so he had a fair idea of its layout and the direction he must travel to get there. However, he had no idea of the kinds of challenges the terrain might present before he reached the buildings. A few contour lines on a map didn’t do full justice to the ruggedness of the actual hills. He immediately discovered that traversing the woods was going to be incredibly tough in the dark: the trees were ancient; many of them had fallen over and become entangled, causing deep impenetrable thickets. Large crags rose from the ground and exposed limestone ridges snaked between the thickest copses of trees. Tess had given him a two-hour window before threatening to come in with guns blazing; there was no possible way he could forge a path through the woodlands and back in that time. He backtracked to the riverbank. His best approach would be to avoid the guards at the bridge, circumvent them and follow the road in towards the commune. The going would be much easier, and also, he was more likely to spot somebody approaching when they’d use lights to pick their way along the road.

  A wire fence close to the riverbank indicated he was approaching the private land. There were signs posted every hundred yards or so, and without paying them much attention, Po understood they’d been there since when this was a military base. He reached a spot where a game trail converged with the riverbank and found that the wire had been pushed down, giving him easy access. He stepped over it and stuck to the beaten path, following it obliquely behind the position of the bridge to where it met the road. Po waited a moment. If his transgression onto the private property had been discovered by electronic means, an alert would be sent to the bridge guards and they’d begin searching for him. For now they were still engaged in conversation, seemin
gly unconcerned about interlopers. He allowed another few minutes in case a search party was dispatched from the commune, and was reasonably assured his presence had gone undetected when the road stayed empty ahead. He began a steady tread along the edge of the road, staying to the shoulder – if there were pressure pads installed they would more likely be buried in the road than under thick grasses. He was alert to the possibility of motion sensors attached to the trees but spotted nothing suspicious. About four hundred yards into the private land he came upon a taller fence, and gates secured against entry. Before approaching the gates he checked either side for CCTV. He saw none. He padded up to the gate and found it locked with a combination padlock; he could spring a normal lock but perhaps not a coded one.

  The communal dwellings around the central square were perhaps a quarter of a mile from the gate, hidden from his view by the woods. If he’d any hope of discovering where Elspeth and Jacob were he must get inside. The gates were about eight feet tall and again emblazoned with ‘Keep Out’ and ‘No Entry’ signs. Barbed wire was strung across the top. The fence appeared to be an original feature from when this was a military encampment. It was also eight feet tall, sturdy and strung with coils of razor wire. The uppermost two feet of the fence angled outward to make scaling it even more difficult. The fence didn’t perturb him much. It was well maintained each side of the gate, but he’d bet things would be different deeper into the woods. He was about to test his theory when he spotted lights approaching. He ducked out of sight, concealing his body behind a tree stump at the edge of the shoulder, and watched the headlights grow brighter.

  Within seconds a vehicle rattled to a stop at the gate and a young man disembarked from the passenger side. He reached through the gate, seized the lock and deftly input the code. The lock dropped open and he pushed the gates open. He waited while the car, an SUV this time, was driven through, then jogged over to get back inside. As was often the case, security measures were as fallible as those relying on them. Rather than relock the gate, the new arrivals had left it open for what they probably anticipated would be a swift return. The SUV drove off, heading for the bridge. The instant they were out of sight, Po rose up from hiding and jogged through the gate. Once inside the inner cordon, he again went to the shoulder of the road and began walking at a faster, though equally wary, clip. A few minutes later and the SUV came bouncing along the road behind him, those inside having returned from their trip to the bridge, and Po again hid in the woods until they passed. Behind him, he must assume that the lock had been reset on the gate, but he wasn’t perturbed: scaling the fence from this side wouldn’t prove as difficult when it was designed to keep people out not in.

  His expectations were shattered on his arrival at the edge of the commune. Elspeth had warned that Eldon Moorcock had formed an armed militia and ruled the commune like a tinpot dictator. He’d conjured images in his mind’s eye of fortified walls, machinegun towers, and perhaps crucified skeletons placed as warnings against transgressors. At the very least he expected to find armed guards patrolling, and maybe an indicator of what served as a jail. The reality was that he spied out over a peaceful encampment of small neat houses and gardens, some larger sheds, and also some buildings that had once undoubtedly been hangars and equipment storage huts. Most of the dwellings were set around an expanse of decaying concrete, on which several vehicles were parked. Further north, the houses were larger and appeared to have been purposefully erected in a semi-circle that encompassed the far end of ‘town’. Po caught no hint of anyone that could be described as a threat. There were lights on in several of the houses, and he could hear the faint strains of music coming from nearby – he was unsure if it was over a radio, or if the musician was playing live. It’d be easy to be lulled into a false sense of security.

  He considered making his way along the edge of town to where the bigger houses were arranged around a green area and turning circle. From there he supposed Eldon Moorcock watched over his domain. It made sense that one of those houses would belong to his eldest son, Caleb, and where he and Elspeth had raised Jacob the past ten years. If Caleb had snatched them, and returned with them here, it would be to his house, surely? Elspeth had feared punishment, but surely not every person within the community was a sadistic misogynist who’d turn a blind eye to the open abuse of a woman and child? It didn’t have to be the case. Po had spent time behind bars in one of the most violent prisons in the US; he knew how a dominant figure could control those around him through the application of fear or reward. Some here might not approve of Caleb’s behavior but they’d know enough to keep their opinions to themselves. But Po doubted that Caleb would hurt her when her cries might be deemed a noisy inconvenience to his nearest neighbors, his family. He would take her elsewhere where he could force as much noise from her as it pleased him.

  He looked for an applicable location but nothing jumped out. A deep ditch had recently been excavated, but it wouldn’t serve to hold prisoners. On the far side of the old parade ground a squat structure drew his gaze. Not because it stood out, or that there was anything unique about it, only that he had seen a woman emerge from a door at its side and hurry across the square towards one of the smaller houses. She was dressed not unlike Elspeth had been in a flowing blouse and long skirt. Was it the prevalent female fashion? Possibly the men here demanded that their wives be covered up demurely. Po waited until she’d disappeared inside the house, then settled once more on the building she had exited. He considered checking it but discarded it in the next few seconds when he saw another woman emerge, this one carrying a pile of folded garments in her arms. He was looking at some kind of communal laundry; not somewhere he’d expect to find prisoners.

  He began a slow circumvention of the town, heading in the opposite direction to the largest houses. Now he was clear of the forest, his night vision had sharpened and he could define most buildings clearly by way of starlight and moonbeams. Other shapes began to form further back inside the opposite tree line, and he recalled from Tess’s maps that disused bunkers nestled among the trees. If Caleb wished to hold Elspeth and Jacob prisoner somewhere, where better than inside a secure bunker? His mind made up, Po slipped out from between the trees and took a more direct route across the bottom end of town. He used the sheds dotted at the end of the parade ground as concealment as he cut towards an old crumbling road that led into the woods.

  ‘Who is that?’

  The voice came from Po’s right.

  In his haste to check the nearest bunker, he’d allowed his guard to drop. As he had passed behind what he took to be an uninhabited shed, a man seated on a felled log had been invisible to him. As Po heard the words, he ensured he didn’t alter his gait and give the man reason to be suspicious. He held up a hand in greeting and replied with an innocuous mutter, ‘It’s only me.’

  Often, his response would be enough. It might leave an observer scratching their head at which of their neighbors had strode past, on some errand or other, and they would have brushed the incident off as unimportant. However, this time, Po’s lackadaisical response begged to be challenged.

  ‘And who are you supposed to be?’ the man called, louder than before. Po glanced back and saw that he had stood up from his perch, and worryingly he held a rifle slanted across his middle. For now, the rifle wasn’t aimed at Po.

  Po turned back, began walking directly towards the man, hands held out amiably from his sides. The moon was behind him, his face in shadow. ‘It’s only me,’ he repeated, and offered a name that should be familiar to the guard, ‘Jeremy. Jeremy Decker? You don’t recognize me?’

  Po stood four or five inches taller than Decker, and his frame was built differently, but as he walked towards the guard, shrouded in darkness, there was enough doubt cast into the man’s mind to ensure that he took a harder look. While he was still trying to figure out if he was being lied to, Po had crossed the distance and was within a few yards of him. By then, Po’s charade could not be maintained.

  �
�Hold on a minute, you aren’t—’

  Whether the guard was about to call him out on his lie, or whether he was still trying to make sense of Po’s appearance, it didn’t matter. Po stepped in without warning, clamping one hand down on the rifle barrel, even as he snapped his forehead into the man’s face.

  The man sagged, stunned, but Po had tempered his blow somewhat. He didn’t know the man from Adam, and had no idea of his temperament or nature: he didn’t wish to needlessly harm a guy given a crappy job. However, weighed against his risk of discovery, he had to make another play when the man tried to grapple for the rifle. Po spun it out of the man’s grasp and rammed the butt into his forehead. This time the man fell like a cut tree and Po stood over him a few seconds, listening for signs their struggle had been overheard. All remained quiet.

  The man was out, but his unconscious state wouldn’t last. It would be minutes at most before the alarm was raised. Po had no option except retreat and hope he could scale the fence before a search party cornered him. Even if he escaped pursuit, the Moorcocks would have been alerted to a trespasser on their property, and in future they might tighten things down so there’d be no hope of returning.

  His reconnaissance mission was effectively over.

  No, there were other ways to approach the problem.

  He could slit the guard’s throat, drag him out in the woods and have done. That way no alarm would be raised and the Moorcocks kept oblivious to his incursion until the corpse was discovered. Po smiled down at the sleeping man grimly. ‘Fortunately for you I’m a better man than that, bra,’ he said.

  Po set aside the rifle. He got behind the man, grabbed under his armpits and dragged him towards the nearest hut. An unlocked door led into a storage shed full of gardening equipment. There, he crouched and unlaced the man’s boots, and used the laces to bind his wrists and ankles together. Next he pulled off the man’s belt and one of his socks and improvised a gag. Finally, Po found a length of electrical wire and he secured the sleeping man to the chassis of a sit-on-and-ride lawnmower. When he woke up, the man would have some freedom of movement, and the gag wouldn’t wholly smother his shouts, but he would be slowed down from raising the alarm. Po had won back a few minutes’ grace.