Evil Never Dies

by S M Hardy

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cummings,’ Mrs Walters said, ‘but you should never have come here.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked, trying to think of something, anything, to stop them from doing the unthinkable.

  ‘Because we have to,’ she said, and there was a loud crack like thunder, a thud against my chest that had me reeling backwards and a feeling like I’d been kicked by one of Satan’s enormous hooves. A woman’s voice cried out, ‘No! He said—’ My knees crumpled and I fell to the ground, whacking my head on something as I went down. Everything went grey and then black and the ringing in my ears turned to silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Light began to creep through my eyelids and I groaned out loud. My head was thumping and my chest was on fire, each breath hurting like shit. I rolled onto my side and groaned some more. I remembered the feeling. I had been shot once before whilst wearing a bulletproof vest. The bloody things might save your life, but you were bruised black and blue for days afterwards. Then it dawned on me: I wasn’t wearing a vest today and in my befuddled state I wondered why I wasn’t dead.

  I slowly opened my eyes. My cheek was lying against soft, plush carpet and straight ahead of me was the foot of one of the living-room leather armchairs. They’d left me where I’d fallen. I struggled to sit, wheezing as I pulled on the arm of the chair to get myself into an upright position.

  I groaned again as I slumped back against the chair. Every tiny movement sent shots of searing pain right through me. I gingerly lifted my hand to check out the damage. I was almost too scared to touch my chest. The boy had been only ten or so feet away from me; there’d be a big hole and blood, lots of blood. I pushed my hand beneath my jacket to tentatively probe the area that hurt so fucking much and touched leather. My knife, the bullet had hit the holstered blade I was carrying. The blade I had so nearly left in its box. I let out the breath I’d been holding and the pain seared my chest. It didn’t matter, my injuries were survivable.

  I hauled myself onto my feet by hanging onto the chair and looked around the room. Emma and Laura were nowhere to be seen. My heart gave a little hiccup.

  I forced myself to move. My head hurt like fuck and I felt like I had a metal strap wrapped around my chest, which was making it hard to take anything except for small, gasping breaths. I staggered towards the door, at the same time groping for my phone in my jacket inside pocket. It hadn’t been as lucky as me. It was a mangled lump of plastic and shattered shards.

  ‘Shit.’ I lifted my wrist to look at my watch and even that most simple act made my chest feel like it was about to implode. It was eleven-eighteen. The bang to my head must have been worse than I’d thought: I had been out for over three hours.

  I lifted my hand to the back of my scalp. There was a lump the size of a small egg and my fingers came away wet and sticky, but I would live. I had to. Emma and Laura needed me.

  I collapsed against the door frame, breathing in deep. The world about me swam for a second then slowly came back into focus. I had to figure out where they would have taken them. I was assuming the clearing in the forest, but if I was wrong it was possible they would both die. For a moment despair swelled within me like the rush of the tide, then I remembered the man I had been. The man I still was. If I was too late, I would deal with it – I would have to. There was one thing of which I was certain. If they did die, there would be plenty of others joining them. Edward Pomeroy and his sicko friends would wish they’d never been born. I pushed away from the door frame and made for the kitchen and the stables.

  The kitchen was empty, though they’d been busy. The dinner things had been cleared away and another feast, covered with cling film and foil, was spread out over the huge kitchen table. Carafes of red wine were set on trays with large silver goblets. Being a member of the Order of the Blood was obviously thirsty work.

  By the time I reached the stable yard I was walking faster and not having to stop every few feet or so. It was in darkness, only the moon and the lights from the house enabling me to see. The Land Rover wasn’t about, nor the old motorbike. Neither would have been of any use to me. They were too damn noisy and the Order would hear me coming from miles away across the open countryside.

  I had two options: I could walk or risk going on horseback. Walking, in my current state, would take too long. I opened the door to the stable block, groping inside for a light switch and, with a click, the building was bathed in light bright enough to make me wince and close my eyes for a second. My head swam and my legs began to tremble. I sagged against the doorway and waited until it passed. When I opened my eyes, the world tilted sideways then slowly righted itself and the terrible spinning slowed and stopped.

  There was the stamp of hooves from one of the stalls and a bit of snuffling, then a loud whinny. This started the others off. I had rudely awoken the inhabitants and they were making their feelings felt.

  I hurried along the stalls making calming noises as I went. Jericho pushed his head over the gate to his stall and, seeing me and recognising a friend, stretched his muzzle out demanding attention. I gently rubbed his forehead while wondering what to do. I briefly considered taking Satan. He was as black as night and would blend like a shadow into the darkness, but he didn’t know me and it was possible the girls might have to take him to escape and neither of them was proficient enough to handle a stallion as huge as Satan.

  ‘It looks like you and I are going for a midnight ride,’ I whispered to Jericho.

  It took me longer than I would have liked to get him saddled. Although I knew where everything was, I had to keep stopping to catch my breath, though by the time I’d finished I was breathing a lot easier than before.

  Leading Jericho out of the stable, the clip-clop of his hooves overloud and echoing throughout the yard, we made our way towards the track. Once away from the house, with some difficulty I hauled myself onto his back and nudged him into a trot, hoping against hope I was right and the Order of the Blood were creatures of habit and the clearing was where they would be intending to continue their killing spree.

  ‘Please let them be there, please let them be there,’ I prayed. If not, I would never find them. And if they were – I didn’t dare think about how I intended to free them. I hadn’t a rifle or a shotgun. The only armoury I had in my defence was my backup; a couple of blades and a length of cheese wire. Great for close combat, but no good against men with guns.

  The landscape ahead of us appeared silver in the moonlight and, as I looked out across the fields and towards the forest of trees looming skywards and into the dark, a feeling of desolation enveloped me. It was an unsettling scene straight out of the horror movies I used to watch as a kid, the stuff of nightmares – or perhaps it was my imagination working overtime knowing the type of people I was about to confront.

  As I drew closer to the forest I began to doubt my judgement. It was quiet, too quiet, and the thud of Jericho’s hooves upon the compacted soil of the track was loud – very loud. Then in the distance, in amongst the dense black silhouette of the woodland, I saw a glimmer of red and gold and a wisp of smoke spiralling upwards out from amidst the trees and towards the moon.

  ‘Gotcha,’ I murmured.

  I urged Jericho to go a bit faster. He snorted and huffed, but did as I asked. ‘Good lad,’ I told him.

  A puff of gentle breeze ruffled my hair and I caught a whiff of burning wood. I was getting close, and as I neared the place where the track entered the forest, I found the Land Rover parked askew across the entrance. From here I’d have to go it alone.

  I slid off Jericho’s back and led him past the Land Rover and off to one side. As I passed the vehicle, I laid my hand on the bonnet. It was still warm; they hadn’t been here long.

  I couldn’t risk Jericho following me or running off somewhere, so I found a low branch and tied him loosely to it. If he got really spooked or I didn’t come back he’d be able to free himself, I was sure. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He might be our only
means of escape, unless Donald Walters had left the keys in the Land Rover, though I didn’t think I’d be so lucky or him so stupid.

  I gave Jericho’s snout a final scratch then trudged off through the trees, trying to keep parallel to the path − difficult when I couldn’t see a thing except for an orange glow in the distance. Then there was a flicker of light and the glow grew into something a whole lot brighter. They had lit some more fires and possibly torches. They must have only been ten minutes or so ahead of me. It gave me a hiccup of hope the girls were still alive and conscious. But what about Emma? a little voice whispered in my head, my small glimmer of hope fast turning to fear. Emma was over and above requirements. She might be lying dead back at the house, maybe even in our bedroom.

  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. I couldn’t think like that. I had to think like a soldier. I had to lock my worry for Emma and Laura away in a small compartment and think like the man I used to be, the man in the mirror. When I opened my eyes, it was that man who peered out into the dark.

  I started off through the trees, running in a low crouch, ignoring the raw pain in my chest. With the light ahead of me I could see more than I had before, and it meant I could move fast without the risk of putting out an eye on a low branch. I was still careful and held an arm out at an angle in front of my face, warding off any vegetation in my path.

  They began to chant. It started off as a low murmur, gradually rising to more of a rousing rumble. I was close enough now that I could see shadowy figures moving around a blazing fire and after a few steps more I could see them clearly. It obviously was a special occasion. They had discarded the black robes the Pomeroy brothers had been wearing in the photograph for silken blood-red habits. Black leather masks obscured any features, making them faceless to their captives and to me and I wanted so much to see who these people were. I strained my eyes searching for Emma or Laura. They were nowhere in sight and I had to pray they were on the other side of the roaring bonfire where three figures stood as if presiding over their loyal subjects. All three had the silver and jet-beaded chains of office about their necks; the inverted crucifixes hanging almost to their waists.

  I began to edge my way through the trees surrounding the clearing. Five small fires burned around the periphery and I could make out the star-shaped design I’d seen before scratched into the dirt forming a pentagram with the bonfire at its centre. These people were whack-jobs; they had to be to buy into this sort of idiocy. If it had been all about sex I could maybe get it, but murder? They had to be sick, that’s what I told myself, that’s what I had to believe.

  When I reached a point halfway around the circle, I saw Emma and Laura. Both were kneeling facing the three robed figures, their backs to the fire. They were clothed in white linen robes and, with a flash of anger, I wondered who had undressed my wife. I sucked it in − being angry now wasn’t helpful. I carried on around the clearing. If I was to cut off the head of the snake, I was going to have to get behind him.

  I zigzagged through the trees, ducking back when the vegetation grew thin and moving in closer when it was too thick to see. When I reached nine o’clock, the central figure being twelve, I could see the girls’ faces. They must have been frightened, but Emma was glaring at her captors with a ferocity that gave the impression she would tear out their throats if given half the chance. Laura was a little red-eyed, but she had a disdainful sneer on her lips, and I doubted she would take any prisoners either. I couldn’t have been prouder of them, but my heart ached and once again I had to fight to keep my fear locked in its compartment. Where there’s life there’s hope and so far they were alive.

  Reaching inside my jacket I pulled out the blade that had saved my life. It was time it took one. I slowly moved on. I was being as quiet as I could possibly be, though I could have ridden in on Jericho and not been heard with the noise they were making.

  Ahead of me something moved. I froze and sank down low. There was someone else watching from the sidelines. I slowly moved outwards and around so I’d come up behind him. The voices rose and fell and I took each step in time with their chant until I was at his back and within touching distance. I waited until the congregation let out a roar and I pounced, my hand covering his mouth and the blade pressed against his jugular. He stiffened in my arms.

  As I moved in close the aroma of hay and horse filled my nostrils. ‘Dan?’ I whispered.

  He relaxed against me and I lowered the blade. He gave me a grim smile over his shoulder and jerked his head towards the girls.

  ‘I knew something was up,’ he whispered, ‘so I thought I’d better take a look.’

  ‘Have you a weapon?’

  He reached down beside him and lifted a sawn-off shotgun. I raised my eyebrows at him and he shrugged. ‘These guys don’t play by the rules,’ he said.

  ‘Nor do I,’ I replied and, not waiting to see if he’d follow, continued my way around the clearing heading for the area behind the three main figures.

  A hand touched my shoulder. I glanced back. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Cut off the head of the snake.’

  He grinned, showing a white flash of teeth. ‘OK,’ he said.

  There was another huge roar from the congregation as they circled the bonfire in a slow, steady procession like a bunch of very vocal Benedictine monks. All in all, I had counted twelve. The odds weren’t inspiring, but I’d been in situations when they’d been worse.

  I slipped behind the central figure. He was taller than the other two and, even covered by flowing robes, appeared stocky of frame. If I wasn’t mistaken the two people flanking him were women. They were certainly slimmer, though it was difficult to tell what was beneath the red silk. It didn’t matter. The man in the middle would be the first to die and, if need be, they’d be the second and third.

  I took a step forward and went in for the kill. My neck gave a little tingle a split second before cold metal pressed against the back of my head. I let my hands drop to my sides.

  Fuck it, I thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Dan and I were frogmarched into the clearing with our hands on our heads. I had lost my blade and the cheesewire, and Dan his sawn-off. Upon seeing us, Emma tried to struggle to her feet only to be roughly hauled back by her shoulders. She wasn’t about to make it easy for them. Her fist swung up and she back-swiped the man holding her smack on the nose. Blood erupted from his nasal passages and he staggered onto one knee. Another man lurched at her, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her against his chest as he snarled obscenities into her ear. She ignored him, mouthing my name as she was forced back onto her knees.

  The man I had assumed to be the leader began to laugh. ‘Well, well, well, you two are full of surprises,’ he said, looking me up and down. ‘I was told you were dead.’

  I ignored him, my eyes on Emma. If this was the end, I wanted to die with her face engraved into my memory. She smiled at me and it was enough. This wouldn’t be the end of our story. I wouldn’t allow it to be.

  I was nudged none too gently in the back with the barrel of a gun. ‘The Celebrant is talking to you,’ the man behind me said.

  I gave Emma a wink and slowly turned my head towards the man who this was all about – the monster Edward Pomeroy.

  The Celebrant threw back his hood. ‘Simon always said you were special,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t ever see it myself, but I have been known to be wrong.’

  For a split second time stood still as something clicked inside my head and everything fell into place. How hadn’t I realised? It was suddenly plainly obvious. ‘Oliver,’ I said. ‘I wish I could say it was good to see you again, but it would be a lie.’

  He laughed and very slowly, for dramatic effect, lifted his hand to his face to grip the mask and lift it off. He was smiling and it was one I recognised. Oliver was as insane as his older brother.

  I stared at the man who had murdered my friend, fighting to hold back my anger. ‘Why did Simon have to die?
And Brandon?’ I asked.

  ‘They were both about to betray the Order and they knew the penalty,’ he said, his mouth twisting into a sneer. Brandon – a member of the Order? I couldn’t help it – the shock must have shown on my face and Oliver began to laugh again. ‘As much as I would enjoy explaining to you why I did what I did, I have much more pressing matters to deal with.’ His eyes alighted on Laura. ‘A wrong must be put right,’ and, with a jerk of his head, he gestured to the man holding her.

  She was hauled to her feet. Next to me Dan began to struggle and, with a crack that made me wince, was hit in the side of his head with the butt of his own sawn-off shotgun. He crumpled to the ground and lay there unmoving.

  ‘Dan!’ Laura screamed and began to fight all the harder to free herself from the hands gripping her forearms. The girl fought dirty. She kicked, she bit, she gouged and against all the odds she somehow escaped from the man’s grasp and threw herself across the clearing towards where Dan lay.

  Emma scrambled to get up. The man behind her balled his fist. I lifted mine and drove my elbow into the solar plexus of the man behind me. I dropped down as he bent double and my second blade was out of my ankle holster and in my hand. Emma’s captor’s fist never landed the blow; he was too busy trying to stem the blood erupting from his chest.

  I span around, punching the man behind me between the eyes as he tried to scramble to his feet, still clutching at his gut. He went down, his eyes rolling upwards as he fell to the ground. I kept moving. Dan’s guard had decided I was more of a threat than Laura and was lifting the sawn-off. Too slow, much too slow. I rammed into him, driving the barrel upwards and him back. As he fell away from me, I followed him, grabbing the butt and barrel of the gun in both hands. He hung onto it for grim death. I couldn’t see his expression behind the mask. I guessed it was panicked.

  I pulled the gun towards me, bringing him with it, and turned slightly, putting him off balance, and then bounced onto the ball of my right foot and drove my left into his leg just below the knee. The bone broke with a loud crack, which was immediately followed by a high-pitched scream reminiscent of a distressed pig. I gave a final tug and the shotgun was mine. I kept going in one continuous movement to turn to face Oliver. I was a split second too late. He had cleared the few yards between him and Emma and whipped her into his arms, his forearm pressed across her throat and a long, thin blade pointing inwards and up below her left breast.