by Paul Kane
"Where to?" Tanek enquired.
De Falaise grinned once more. "Where else would we send them to hunt for the hooded man, but to Rufford. Rufford at the heart of Sherwood Forest!"
CHAPTER NINE
It wasn't an easy thing to do, but Robert was putting what had happened behind him. Not the big thing, not the thing that sent him out here in the first place, but the thing that had happened a couple of days ago at the market. He'd returned to his life as 'normal', busied himself with the everyday, with catching food and living out his time. At night he still dreamt of the men, of his son, of Mark, but on waking he was able to slot them into some hidden compartment of his brain. He'd quietened the voices that told him he was leaving Bill and the others to fend for themselves against overwhelming forces; armed men that he'd brought down on them. It was none of his business – Oh, so suddenly it's nothing to do with you? Weren't saying that when you were rushing to their defence, were you? – it didn't matter anymore what happened, he of all people should know that.
He could just keep on running, keep on hiding. It was for the best.
But Robert should also have known, especially after the amount of times he'd done it himself standing by the huge lake at Rufford, that when you cast a stone into the water it creates ripples. He could no more run from his destiny than he could commit suicide after losing Joanne and Stevie.
A few days later he spotted an intruder near to his camp.
Or at least he thought it was an intruder – he'd been on edge since his encounter with De Falaise's men, for which no one could really blame him. Robert had been bringing back some of the day's spoils when he spotted movement in the undergrowth not far from his tent. Robert had done his best to camouflage his home, and doubted whether any passers by would see it from a distance. But what if they were looking for it?
Relax, he told himself, might only be an animal. Though it hardly ever happened, deer had been known simply to walk into his camp before now. They never stayed long, though, and counted themselves lucky that the times they'd done so had been when he'd had more than enough meat to last him.
But it wasn't an animal. As Robert crouched down he saw the shadow cast across the trees. Leaving the catches where they were, he began to move around, encircling the camp, keeping low and loading a freshly-made arrow into his bow at the same time. The approaching figure was stealthy, but over time Robert had become the master. When he was close enough, he rose up out of the woodland, aiming his arrow at the intruder's head. His finger twitched, almost releasing the missile.
What he saw made him stand down, ease up, and let the tension of the bow lapse. There, holding his hands in the air, was Mark. "Don't shoot!" he urged, a little too late. If Robert had decided to do so, there'd have been nothing he could have done about it.
Robert let out a long sigh. "What are you doing here? I could have killed you."
"I…" Mark began, the implications only now sinking in. "You could've as well, couldn't you?"
Robert's gaze never faltered. "I still could," he informed him. "Why have you come here when I specifically told you not to?"
He wasn't expecting Mark's answer. "To warn you."
"What?"
Mark nodded. "They're coming for you, Robert. De Falaise's men."
"How do you know?"
"How do I get to know anything?" Mark said with a smile. "I keep my ear to the ground. And right now I can hear marching feet."
"Let them come."
The boy moved closer. "You don't understand, they're coming in mob handed. De Falaise got wind of what you did and he's going to take you down before you cause any more trouble for him."
"Is he now?"
"Yes," said Mark. "And they're on their way from Nottingham. You have to get out of here."
Robert gave a hollow laugh. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't you understand? They're going to kill you!"
"I understand, and what I said the other day still stands. Get out of here – go where it's safe, Mark."
Mark scowled. "After all that? After risking my neck to come and tell you, you still-"
"Sshh," Robert told him, holding his finger to his lips.
Mark froze; he'd been too busy talking to notice. "What?"
"Gunfire," said Robert. "They're already here."
Maybe it was the fact that he'd been the one to deliver the news that had landed Granger in this mess. Here they all were, entering a forest, looking for someone who had taken on a whole unit of De Falaise's men and won. Granger thought of them as De Falaise's men rather than his own now, though there were a few other former members of the Jackals here today with him. They'd been through too much on the road up north to ever be the same again. If the virus and The Cull had changed them the first time around, banding them together against what they saw as the former system, then meeting De Falaise had changed them back again into drones of another 'machine'.
Every night when he slept – when he could even get to sleep in the crowded makeshift barracks on the upper floor of the castle – he saw the bolt entering Ennis's head. Saw what that git Tanek had done to him on De Falaise's orders. He'd wake, sweating, the scar on his hand throbbing.
And he'd seen many more die at their hands when they'd refused to sign up for this mad army, run by an even madder dictator. Christ alone knew what he was doing to that poor woman in his bedroom.
You can hardly talk, what about the girls that The Jackals took in?
That was different, he argued with himself. They needed protection, they knew what they were doing and got something in return. The woman brought back from that village by 'Major' Javier – the man leading them into the forest today – had been virtually catatonic. He'd seen her eyes when they ushered her into the castle. They were dead, like a zombie or something. Whatever had been done to her, even before De Falaise entered the picture, must have been enough to bend her mind.
So here he was, serving that lunatic, calling him 'Lord' just so he wouldn't do the same to him that he'd done to those men they'd caught deserting. One poor sod was still hanging in the stocks after he'd been tortured for information, his screams heard throughout the grounds as Tanek had done things to him Granger didn't even want to think about. The others had been interrogated down in the caves.
It was how they knew what they were up against today: a single bloke who'd shot out the wheels of bikes and jeeps just using arrows. Who'd killed that psychotic cigar-smoking kraut, Henrik, blowing up his toy tank in the process.
Yep, they were looking for bloody Rambo out here.
Given the option, Granger wouldn't have been present at all – he would have been cheering this guy on from the sidelines. This man had the guts to take on De Falaise and obviously had him rattled. So much so that he'd sent along a bunch of heavily armed troops to bring back the man's body. De Falaise was definitely taking no chances.
Something rustled in the undergrowth to their left and, almost in unison, the men turned and fired. The forest came alive with light, the muzzles of machine guns flaring. Even before Granger had a chance to aim, the order had been given for ceasefire. Javier stepped in front of the men, examining the shredded bushes and trees.
"It's nothing, false alarm. Just a hare or something," he said to his men by way of headsets.
Granger groaned. So they were shooting at Thumper now? What next, Bambi's mother?
"I don't like this," muttered a soldier to Granger's right. He knew what the guy meant; even with their firepower, it felt like they were sitting ducks, felt like they were the ones being targeted. And they'd just told whoever was out there exactly where to find them. Smart.
They moved forwards, following Javier, knowing that they didn't have a choice in the matter. The overweight Mexican was De Falaise's eyes and ears; he might as well be him. If they revolted, more men who had no choice would come after them. Granger knew that, they all did.
"Why don't you try picking on someone your own size?" came a voice out of nowhere. It ec
hoed all around them, impossible to trace. "If you can find anyone."
"There!" shouted Javier, "It's him!" He pointed, and the men opened up on the trees once more. Except for Granger. He had his finger on the trigger of his weapon but something told him he'd be wasting his ammo.
When the gunfire died down, he was proved right. All was quiet and still for a moment or two, then came the voice again. "Nice try."
"Bastardo!" spat Javier, red faced.
There was movement again in the foliage – but this time Javier himself was on it. He brought up his M16/Colt Commando, firing an incendiary from the grenade launcher fitted underneath. He laughed crazily as the forest burst into flames, burning everything ahead of him. "How does that suit you, my friend?"
There was no answer this time.
Suddenly there was movement again, this time from a completely different direction. Javier pointed, ordering a handful of his men into the trees, Granger included.
Shit! he thought. More orders, more trouble.
Granger held well back as the troops moved in. They crept along as they scanned the area. A guy on his right was the first to go down. Granger heard a snapping sound and turned, quickly enough to see that the man had stepped into a snare, the noose around his ankle yanking him sideways as the branch it was attached to dragged him away into the foliage.
"Place is booby-trapped. He's led us into a fucking trap!" shouted another man, right before his leg disappeared into a small hole that had been covered over with bracken. He cried out in pain, eyes watering. Another ran across to help him, tripping some twine on the floor, which in turn dislodged the stick holding a weighty branch in place. This swung down and hit the man squarely in the chest, sending him reeling backwards, rifle flying out of his grasp.
Granger didn't see how the next soldier set off the trap, but he spotted all too late the spear that was fired from what looked like a huge bow. It hurtled across the green into the man's shoulder, with such an impact that it carried him back a few steps before he eventually fell.
More cries came as the rest of his 'comrades' experienced the same. Spears, snares and tripwires caught them out. Set in a concentrated area to catch animals, they were now decimating their number. Another fell when a homemade bolas wrapped itself around his neck.
Granger retreated, slowly, glancing down at the ground as he did so. Nervously, he checked around him in case he set anything off. Too late he heard the cracking sound below, then the next thing he knew he was being yanked upwards, the net closing in around him and pulling him into the air. His gun fell out of his hands, the mike from his head. He felt his stomach roll as he was hoisted up, only stopping when it reached a certain height.
There he was left, dangling. He took deep breaths, calming himself down. You're still alive, still alive. Just caught in a net, that's all. You can get out of this.
Even as he thought it, someone passed by beneath him wearing a hood. He paused to look up at Granger, and the youth thought that was it – his time was finally up. Then the hooded man went on his way, disappearing into the undergrowth as if he'd never really existed at all.
Javier had heard all the screams through his headset and scowled.
It was one thing he hadn't anticipated, although he probably should have. Having led men into battle in the jungles of South America, he should have thought more about the possibility of traps. But who would have expected the quiet English countryside to be like those war zones? These were different times, though, weren't they? This was post-Cull Britain and anything was possible. The man they were dealing with was a hunter, of course he'd know how to lay traps! Now a good chunk of his squad had been incapacitated, probably killed.
Bastardo!
Javier shook his head. He couldn't let some fucking Englishman with a sense of the theatrical get the better of him. He still had over a dozen well-armed men and There was a noise. It sounded like something whistling, travelling fast. "Take cover!" screamed Javier, but his warning came too late. A single arrow was already flying. But it didn't strike any of the men as he'd expected. Instead it hit the ground, some distance from where they were standing.
What is he doing? thought Javier. Either he's a very bad aim or…
"Get up! Get up and get out!" Javier barked his orders, but they were too late.
The explosion was loud, a live grenade attached to the arrow suddenly detonating. The nearest men were thrown into the air, pulled as if performing a circus act on wires. Smoke was everywhere.
Through the smog, he saw a figure. It darted between the trees, entering the arena of battle, taking on those who were still standing, making the most of their confusion. Javier could have warned them but instead wanted to observe his enemy in combat, get the measure of him. The hooded figure was trained well in the defensive arts, that much was obvious by the way he handled himself. Deflecting punches with his forearms, kicking, throwing men onto the ground and winding them. One pulled a Browning pistol out of his holster and the hooded man spun around, grabbing the soldier's arm and bringing it down over one raised knee until the gun was relinquished. He fought as if he didn't care what happened to him, and yet at the same time Javier recognised some sort of survival instinct there. It was a curious and very dangerous combination.
By the time the smoke had cleared, Javier had brought his grenade launcher to bear again, letting off another incendiary in the hooded man's general direction. And, just as he hadn't anticipated what had happened with the traps, he didn't see what came next, either.
The hooded man cowered from the spreading fire.
Could it be that… Yes! He was actually afraid of the flames. Javier grinned. The hooded man held up his hand to protect his face, stumbling backwards, his mouth open in fear.
This wasn't any ordinary aversion, Javier could see that. Rather, it was as if the fire held some kind of special significance for him – some private terror that only he knew about.
It didn't matter. He'd burn the bastard to a crisp and take his remains back to De Falaise. Javier could imagine what the Frenchman might say: "You have done well, Major. Pick a county and you will rule it as my deputy." It was why all of them were with the man, wasn't it? Power? A chance to rule? Or maybe he should take the hooded man back to De Falaise alive so that he and Tanek could have some of their special brand of fun?
Javier had only let his mind wander for a moment or two, but it was enough for everything to change. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were other people there. One of the rising soldiers was struck across the face by what Javier thought at first to be a piece of wood, a branch of some kind: another trap the hooded man had set? No… now he could see it was a walking stick, brandished by a squat, bald man, who was even now attacking again. He looked very familiar.
And who was that on the other side? Smaller than the rest, throwing stones at a couple of the other soldiers. A rock caught one man a glancing blow across the temple and he collapsed to his knees.
So he has friends, then? Javier mulled. As he suspected there was no way he'd been able to do all this on his own. No matter, I'll fry the lot of them. He brought up his weapon one final time, then felt something hard pressing into his cheek.
Javier's eyes swivelled left and down. They traced the end of the shotgun to another man. "How do," said the ruddy-faced man in the checked shirt and tank top. "I'd be droppin' that about now if I were ye. We don't want no accidents, do we? Nice and slow."
The Mexican began to lower his weapon, which the man with the shotgun took off him.
"When De Falaise learns of this, you will all be in big trouble," grumbled Javier. Even to his ears, it sounded lame.
"That so?"
Javier nodded, but the ruddy-face man just laughed. The battle – the hunt – was over and they'd lost. Javier knew it, his enemies knew it. But the next thing he knew was blackness, as the man turned the gun around and hit him hard with the butt.
Once they'd dealt with the fires and tied up all prisoners left alive, the trio tu
rned their attentions to Robert.
He had barely said a word; just sat propped up against a tree, eyes staring out from beneath his hood. They knew it had been the incendiary from Major Javier's weapon that had done this to him, but none of them knew why. None of them dared to ask. Instead, they discussed what should be done about De Falaise's men.
"I know what I'd like to do to that one," said the Reverend Tate, leaning on his stick. He pointed across at Javier, still spark out and helpless as a baby. A complete reversal of the last time they'd met. "He took a friend of mine away, killed another."
Bill nodded. "Aye. But could ye really do that? A man of God and all?"
"An eye for an eye, the Bible says." But Tate conceded the point. "All right, maybe just a bit of a pummelling, then."
"I'm worried about Robert," interrupted Mark. They both looked at the boy who'd brought them here today, who'd sent word that De Falaise's men were on their way to the forest and that Robert might need their assistance. In spite of the fact the man had turned his back on them earlier on that week, Bill knew that he owed him a debt. And when news reached Tate, even though he hadn't met the man, he came. Maybe it was partly for revenge – a concept he wasn't supposed to believe in – or was it something else? To meet the man who'd taken on De Falaise's troops at the market, the person that people in neighbouring villages and towns were already talking about. The Hooded Man. Someone they might be able rally behind? A figurehead?
A hero?
He didn't look like one at the moment.
"Perhaps I should talk with him?" offered Tate. "I'm used to it after all. Giving counsel. I can be quite persuasive when I need to be."
Mark and Bill both shrugged, then watched as the holy man walked over to the tree where Robert sat gazing at nothingness. They could just about hear the conversation between the two men, which was woefully one-sided to begin with. Tate introduced himself, explained what had happened in Hope, the things Javier and some of his men had done there, when all the community had really wanted was to start over again.
