by Paul Kane
But it had been worth it. All the men down in one fell swoop.
No, not all of them. One guard, blackened from the smoke, emerged. His face was blistered, one eye looked as though it was either gone or had skin stretched over it. There was a lump of metal sticking out of his shoulder, but none of this seemed to be bothering him too much. He was more intent on causing harm to the person who'd done this. The man grunted and brought his machine-gun to bear. Dale was still holding his, and depressed the trigger.
It clicked empty.
In spite of the obvious pain he must have been in, the man laughed. It was guttural, deep and throaty, in keeping with his nightmarish appearance. The guard raised his gun and Dale closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
He heard a dull thump rather than the rat-ta-tat he'd been expecting. "You've just been Jack Hammered, buddy," said a voice which made him open his eyes immediately.
The guard was on the floor, but there was still no sign of Jack. Then, through the smoke, came the end of the staff that had struck the guard on the head. Jack's face followed, and he adjusted the cap he always wore as he looked down at his handiwork. When he noticed Dale he appeared just as surprised to see him.
"Dale?" said Jack, unable to disguise the delight in his voice. "All that worrying and you're here sitting on your ass."
"You know me. Always slacking."
Jack laughed. "And getting yourself into scrapes. I just had to follow the sound of gunfire."
Dale was having trouble getting up and Jack came over to help, as did Meghan, appearing from around the corner. Jack instinctively began raising his staff, but Dale held up his hand.
"She's with me. Civilian. There are more dotted about this place."
"I see." The large man lowered his weapon, smiling tentatively at her. She smiled back. Dale knew he had a problem with women ever since what had happened with Adele. Dale couldn't really talk - he'd thought badly of Meghan too when it looked like she'd set him up. Then Jack spotted her hand.
"Why, you're hurt as well, little lady." That wasn't Jack being patronising, it was just what he called most women - and there was a certain respectful charm to that, which Meghan appeared unused to.
"The Dragon," said Dale, by way of explanation about her hand.
"We need to get that examined," Jack said, moving closer and placing his hand underneath hers. "We have some Rangers trained in first aid."
"I-I'll be all right," she said shyly.
Jack smiled, then turned and addressed Dale. "I'm guessing he did that number on you, as well."
Dale nodded. "We're on our way to him right now... well, we think. He's got Meghan's niece."
"Okay." Jack handed him the guard's machine-gun in exchange for his exhausted one, then got him to his feet. "So, what are we waiting for?"
As they got moving, Dale asked how their side were doing. "Creamin' em, kid," said Jack. "Tanek still around?"
"Sorry," Dale told him. "He headed off after the meet by the sound of things."
Jack's face fell. Then he turned to Dale and asked, "Listen, this niece we're on our way to save. Are you and her... Y'know?"
Dale didn't say a word, but his expression must have told Jack everything he needed.
"Figures," said the big man, rolling his eyes. "You really have got to get another act, kid."
Dale thought about telling him he had; that this girl was different. But Jack probably wouldn't believe him, and he couldn't blame him for that.
The point was they were on their way to try and save her. Sian.
Dale just hoped they were in time.
Chapter Sixteen
Enough was enough.
He couldn't take any more of this, it was insane! Even though he'd only been up there a short time, the flames very gradually building, Ceallach could smell Hood's flesh beginning to cook. It made his stomach churn.
Not that long ago, he would have gladly cheered at the death of this man. The one responsible for his band of raiders losing that haul with the truck. The one who fired arrows at Ceallach himself as he rode alongside on his motorbike, watching as Hood dispatched most of his companions. Hadn't he himself even ordered Torradan to shoot through the roof of the van and kill Hood? But, when all was said and done, this woodsman had defeated them. Defeated the men Ceallach had ridden with, pretty much single-handedly.
Ceallach had been thrown off his bike during the course of the scrap; or, more accurately, when Hood jammed his sword in the wheel. That had hurt. But, afterwards, when Ceallach had dragged himself back to the vehicle to make his escape, Hood had also been the one who'd allowed him to escape. Ceallach had seen him in the smashed mirrors, preventing that guy with the shotgun from shooting.
The trip back to the castle hadn't been easy. Knowing he was leaving so many of his friends behind, at Hood's mercy, stuck in his craw. But if those captured Rangers were telling the truth then they were at least being treated humanely. Ceallach had heard in the past about Hood's hotel prisons - sounded quite nice actually, better than some of the accommodation here.
And, after he'd returned to tell the Widow what had happened - still hurt and angry that her reputed vision hadn't shown her what would happen - what had she offered in reply?
"Aye, I knew Hood would be waitin'."
Just like that. Which told him one of two things. Either she couldn't see shit, and all the voodoo bollocks they believed about her was just a crock, or she'd let them walk into a trap. Neither option made him warm to her. Why exactly would the Widow knowingly send them into an ambush? She hadn't shared her reasons with him - simply sent Ceallach to the Vaults to be punished for answering back. Re-education, she'd called it. That had hurt more than fucking falling off the bike. Some of the stuff they did to people. He'd thought it was only reserved for their enemies, but apparently not.
Well, he'd been re-educated all right. It had definitely made him think twice, but not about questioning the Widow's motives. More like what the fuck he was still doing here? He'd pretended the experience had done him a favour; the Widow didn't generally try that conversion thing on people like him if they turned against her. Instead she just had you killed. It was less trouble. He played along, all nice like. He knew how to do that from before, when he'd been one of Freddie Banks' guys, pulling bank-jobs and other robberies. You did the work, you took your cut; you smiled, said thanks. That's what he'd done after he'd finished his stint in the Vaults. The Widow usually asked to see you afterwards, to look you in the eye, check out whether you really were sorry. And he'd been scared of that, he had to admit, though not as scared as before. See, he was starting to lean more towards the opinion that she was a fake. This Widow could no more see into the future than his testicles were going to sprout wings and fly away, waving a cheery goodbye to his dick.
As it turned out, he hadn't needed to pass the test, because that was when Hood was captured. He'd had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he'd wanted to find him and punch him in the face. On the other, it showed that not even this man, the living legend, was immune from the Widow's power. If only those people who'd believed Hood's press over the past couple of years could see him now; naked and helpless as a baby while the heat roasted him.
Ceallach knew what she had in mind next. He'd known ever since they'd called him to help escort these prisoners to the Reservoirs - re-enforcements after something had happened in the Great Hall. What the Widow had planned was something the men always talked about, but no-one could confirm. Something she'd done to men she'd been fond of, but was either bored with or they'd betrayed her. Seems she'd had designs on Hood from what he could make out, even used that mojo of hers on him; the symbols were still painted on his glistening skin. But he'd spurned her, so now she was going to cook him.
Then eat him.
Again, Ceallach felt his stomach lurch. He'd seen some weird shit in his time at Edinburgh Castle, heard tales about so much more. But this wasn't him. Not this. If most of the fellas here knew what was actually going down, they'd feel
the same - which was why she'd only allowed a couple to remain, locking the door behind her. Ones she felt sure remained loyal to her. Ceallach had only just undergone re-education so was unlikely to want to go there again in a hurry. The other guard across the way, Artair, really lived up to the name she'd given him; remaining stone-like, unmoved by what was occurring.
Which was more than could be said for Hood's woman. Little wonder, when the Widow had just told them she was up the duff, and now her husband was being treated like a suckling pig on a spit. The Widow was licking her lips at the prospect. Salivating.
This was too much; too much. He'd done some bad things in his time, but a line was being crossed here. Could Ceallach just stand by and watch? He had to do something. Ceallach - no, not Ceallach... that's the name she gave you, a Celtic name meaning war or strife; your name is Tommy Neagle, remember? Tommy gritted his teeth, knowing that he was going to regret this, but the time had come to test his theory.
The time had come to see if this bloody madwoman really could see into the future.
He turned his machine-gun on the Widow.
"Let him down," Tommy told her. "Or I'll shoot."
At first he didn't think she'd heard him. She didn't turn or even look. Then, slowly, she shifted her gaze from the fire and Hood, to Tommy. She frowned, perhaps thinking he'd gone insane, unable to see that the only crazy one around here was her. "And what exactly do yer think yer doin', Ceallach?"
"Tommy," he grumbled under his breath. Then, louder: "My name is fuckin' Tommy! Now let him down, for God's sake."
"God?" The Widow didn't move, but he saw beyond her that Hood's wife had begun to look hopeful.
When Tommy looked back at the Widow, she'd moved closer. He raised his machine-gun higher. "Don't move, I'm warnin' yer!"
Then everything seemed to happen at once. The Widow leapt forward again, and Tommy fired. At the same time, Artair turned his gun on Tommy and this was all the distraction Hood's woman needed to strike. She spoilt Artair's aim by grabbing the rifle and twisting, then delivering a punch across the face that any heavyweight boxer would have been proud of. But she hadn't finished yet. With the flat of her hand, she smacked Artair squarely in the face. There was a loud crack as his nasal cartilage not only shattered, but was driven up into the man's brain.
That didn't help Tommy, though. There was no sign of the Widow in front of him, where he'd just fired. She was off to one side, blowing something in his face. He coughed, spluttered; then attempted to move.
He couldn't.
Fuck.
He heard the Widow laughing in his ear. "Time to meet yer God in person, Tommy." She showed him the golden dagger she was about to use, held it under his nose, in fact, to taunt him. Then it was gone, and Tommy felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his side as she slid it into him - the Widow holding his shoulder to stop him falling over. He would have screamed, except for the fact his jaw had locked up completely. And he would have dropped to the ground, but for his knees remaining fixed in position. Should have called me Artair, he thought, but there was no humour to it. He was dying and he knew that. Tommy felt the blade being removed, and then he saw why.
A blur in front of him, another crazed woman - this time out to save her man from his terrible fate. She grabbed hold of the Widow, then delivered a series of short but effective punches to her face. "Bet you didn't see that coming!" shrieked Hood's woman, her words fuelled by hatred. The Widow responded by shaking her head, wiping her nose, and lashing out with the bloodied dagger. The same blood that had saved him when everyone else had died of the virus. Tommy attempted to roll his eyes down to his belt, but Hood's woman wasn't looking. Thankfully, she'd thought of this anyway and turned to face him, unsheathing both his claymore and his belt-knife.
Yes! thought Tommy, now actually rooting for Hood's woman. She was only just in time to block an attack from the Widow, bringing up both weapons she'd taken and crossing them to prevent the dagger from plunging into her chest.
The Widow was still fast, but the unexpected punches had hampered her a little. More evidence, Tommy thought, that she couldn't really predict what was about to happen.
Unless she'd been too close to this whole thing? a voice in his mind said. Maybe it had clouded her judgement? It didn't matter now; he wouldn't be around for much longer. But he was holding on to see who would win this grudge match between the two women.
On the face of it, that should have been obvious. The Widow had bested bigger and better opponents. But Hood's woman was fighting with such determination and rage, it made him think twice. She pushed back the Widow's lunge, kicking out with her foot into the Widow's midriff. His former leader crumpled, taking a couple of steps backwards, but soon straightened again. Hood's woman swept the claymore around in an arc and the Widow only narrowly avoided having her head separated from her body.
The Widow's response was to kick up and sideways, knocking the sword from the woman's hand, sending it spinning across the room. That left them with just the knives. Both women hunkered down, trying to anticipate what the other would do. The Widow still looked sluggish from the blows to the face, otherwise Tommy knew she would have been on Hood's woman in seconds, and her enemy wouldn't have stood a chance. As it was when they clashed, it was Hood's lady who had the distinct advantage, her knife slashes fast and furious while the Widow seemed to be having trouble avoiding them.
Tommy watched as the Widow began to mumble something in that unknown language she'd been using before. But whatever spell she'd been trying to muster either didn't work or she didn't get time to finish it, because Hood's woman brought down the knife - forcing the Widow to grab her wrist with her free hand to stop it from entering her shoulder. Hood's woman had to do the same with the Widow's wrist to avoid getting stabbed in the ribs, and the pair staggered around like this for a few moments, each looking for an opening.
It was the Widow who was losing ground, though, having to find her footing again and again as Hood's woman heaved her back. On the very last push, the Widow used her opponent's momentum against her and dragged her around full circle before flinging her to the ground. She struck the floor hard and Tommy looked on in dismay as his knife flew out of the woman's hand, clattering across the stone. The Widow followed this up with a swift kick across the jaw which sent the woman's head whipping sideways and saw her flat on her back. The Widow laughed.
"I was goin' tae let you watch what came next, but I suppose the time's come for doin' what Robert couldn't. Killing you and that little maggot inside yer. Cuttin' all links to ma intended." It was then that Tommy realised how completely mental the Widow was. She was still talking as if she was going to marry Hood or something, when in actual fact she was intending to devour him. The Widow held the dagger high, ready to bring it right down into the woman's stomach.
Tommy was aware that his vision was fading as his body went numb. He'd hung on for as long as he could, but it seemed that the woman's fate was sealed. Just like his. It would have been nice to have seen his death avenged, even if Hood's woman hadn't known she was doing it. But everything was growing black, in spite of the fact he couldn't close his eyes.
Then something happened that made him fight for every second he had left. The Widow was just about to strike when a pair of legs appeared, wrapping themselves around her shoulders and neck. Using all the effort he could muster, Tommy looked up slightly to see that Hood had swung over using the rope and grabbed the Widow, locking her tight there between his legs.
Again, the Widow seemed shocked - and before she could think about bringing the dagger up and into Hood's leg, he was straining on the ropes and pulling her backwards. Tommy was amazed at the resolve he was showing - perhaps there was something to the legend after all, if he could pull victory from the jaws of death like this. Or just sheer bloody-mindedness? The muscles in the man's taut body were bulging, thighs pressing against the sides of the Widow's head, causing her obvious pain. But he was also pulling against the ropes, his biceps fighting
against the Widow's insistence to stay still.
With a last concerted effort, gritting his teeth, Hood pulled the Widow backwards, so that her feet came off the floor a few centimetres. Turning, she realised too late what was about to happen and again began chanting in that strange language, as if that was going to save her.
It wasn't. And Tommy watched, with a certain degree of satisfaction, as the woman was pulled onto the pyre. It seemed only fitting for a witch to be killed that way. Hood used whatever strength remained to pull his legs and feet up out of the way of the flames as they caught the Widow's body, drowning her in a fiery sea.
Tommy was aware of banging at the door. They didn't have long before the rest of the Widow's men would be inside. But Hood's woman was already getting to her feet, limping across to the rope that held the man she loved suspended above the fire.
He didn't see her get the man down or what happened next, because Tommy's life was pretty much at an end. But as his vision went completely and his heart stopped, he celebrated this small victory at least. The Widow, the woman who'd killed him, had been defeated.
But Tommy also knew that this was far from the end of Hood and his woman's problems.
As the vehicles had pulled up, the driver of the largest nervously gripped the wheel.
This had been a stupid, stupid idea and was bound to fail. How on earth had he let himself get talked into it? Because, he remembered, the people inside there had put their lives on the line for such as him. He owed them. They all did. So it was the least they could do to try and free them.
But Jesus, was this the wrong way to go about it. They'd never get away with it. They'd been lucky that they'd managed to get past the check-points so far, although a couple had needed taking out when they got too nosey. That, to his mind, didn't give them much time before their subterfuge was discovered. Weren't check-points supposed to check in every now and again? What happened when they didn't? Was a radio screw-up blamed, or did it mean another ambush awaited them? At one of the security checks someone had mentioned radioing in, but then a guard had said that the Widow was engaged in urgent business and wouldn't want to be disturbed. That gave him some hope, at least, that they might make it to the castle.
