by Paul Kane
"Robert, come on. Enough's enough."
"Don't… don't try to… Bill, promise me you'll… stay here… The others… They'll… they'll be arriving soon…"
"What others?" Bill said, fearing he'd lost his mind completely.
"This… this is where it's going to happen… This is where they'll die unless…"
"Yer not makin' any sense, Robert."
"Promise me!" repeated Robert, his voice strengthening.
"Aye, all right. Bugger off, then!"
Robert was already pulling up his hood, and stumbling away, using the fence to keep him upright, then relying on nearby trees as he made his way into the forest. Bill nearly went after him, but something held him back. Something told him to go and wait with the Gazelle, even though he was almost certainly leaving The Hooded Man to die amongst the trees.
And his legend along with him.
They were pushing the horses too hard, even Dale could see that.
But he'd made a promise — and even as he was riding his mount across the next hillside, Dale wondered how Robert was. Robert, who he'd left in that field, bleeding to death but insisting that they go because the castle was — or very soon would be — under attack. Mary was in danger, that was the man's one and only thought, but how exactly was Dale going to explain to her that he'd left the man she loved?
"We'll send back help…"
He'd shouted that as they'd left and he'd meant it. As soon as they'd assessed the situation at the castle, tackled the threat — and just how exactly are you planning on doing that? Take on another army with your own numbers depleted and no Robert to lead the charge? — Dale would do it, he'd send medical aid and-
But Lord knows how long all that would take. Robert might be — definitely would be — dead by then. He'd lost a lot of blood from the sickle wounds, had been crippled by that jeep.
Dale squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, willing himself not to think about it. But when he closed his eyes all he could see was Robert's mangled body.
Quit it! He's relying on you to get to Mary, Dale. Now, I know you've never cared enough about a woman to sacrifice yourself like that, but it's what Robert's doing. His life for hers. So get on with it, get going, get to the castle!
Azhar was pulling up alongside him, having broken away from the pack behind, and was pointing to the horse he himself was riding; telling Dale what he already knew. Dale stabbed his own finger ahead. They were not stopping. The horses could rest when they arrived.
They had to reach the castle before it was too late.
Even during his days sneaking in and out of towns and cities to gather supplies, Mark had never pulled off a getaway like this one. He still wasn't quite sure how they'd made it out of the castle grounds, let alone Nottingham.
They'd surfaced from the caves out by the Brewhouse Yard, a reversal of what Reverend Tate had done to gain access when De Falaise had been in residence. Tate had a fun time negotiating the steps, but with Mark and Sophie's help he'd got down them okay. Of course there had been men stationed in the Yard, those who'd killed the Ranger guards, but Mark managed to creep up on them and took both out with blows to the head, hitting them with a fallen half-brick he'd picked up on the way.
The jeep had proved trickier, but while Tate and Sophie waited by the gate, he managed to creep up on the driver. Most of the vehicles had already entered the grounds, with some congregating up the top or waiting down side streets because they couldn't get in. They'd been lucky to find this one, very lucky.
Once he'd taken care of the driver, reaching in through the window and landing a well-aimed punch, Mark had climbed in and backed the jeep down to where his companions were hiding.
Sophie pulled the unconscious Russian out of the passenger side, and they'd climbed in, Tate having terrible difficultly getting in until Sophie helped out. That's why they'd had to steal something with wheels, because the Reverend wouldn't have made it half a mile on foot.
Mark had kept the engine idling a good few minutes, however, at the Brewhouse gate, expecting to see Jack come bounding down those steps, Gwen, Adele and Mary with him.
No, not Mary. Mark had seen her, seen what the cave in had done. If she wasn't dead already, she would be when The Tsar's men or the cultists got their hands on her. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white.
He'd wiped the tears away, but not before Sophie saw them. She reached across and put a hand on his forearm. "We have to go, Mark."
"Just a couple more minutes."
"Jack's resourceful. He'll find a way to get out, to meet up with us. He wouldn't want us to get captured. Would he, Reverend?"
Tate said nothing, but Mark knew she was right. They should get away, wait for Jack at the rendezvous point.
They had to head for Sherwood.
Mark's driving left something to be desired — having only been behind the wheel a few times before. He'd been too young to drive pre-virus, and Robert and his men went everywhere on horseback. Luckily, Bill had given him a few lessons before leaving. "Never know when it's goin' to come in handy," he'd said, tapping his nose.
Mark hadn't thought about Bill in months, and it was strange that he should do so now. Because, as they pulled in to the car park at Sherwood Forest, who should they see but the man himself, standing next to his helicopter, holding his shotgun as if he'd never been away. He was pointing it at their vehicle, squinting as he tried to make out who was inside.
For a second Mark thought he was actually going to shoot, so he stuck a hand out of the window. Bill kept his gun raised, but when Mark braked and shoved his head out, he smiled, lowering the weapon.
Mark hopped out and ran towards him. "Bill? Is it really you?"
"Aye."
They gave each other a hug as Sophie helped Tate out of the jeep. When the pair came over, Bill greeted them both. "How do?"
"What are you doing at Sherwood?" Mark asked him.
"Long story. Yerself?"
Like Bill, Mark didn't know where to start. He told him about the attack on the castle, and how they'd only managed to get out by the skin of their teeth. They were still hoping that Jack would make it, with Gwen and Adele.
"Well I'll be," said Bill when he'd finished. "It's a good job I didn't take him there then."
"Who?" asked Mark.
"Listen, I'm not goin' to lie to you. The bloke's in a pretty bad way, Mark."
"Who? Who's in a bad way?"
"Robert."
"You're here with Robert?" Tate rubbed his head. "I don't understand."
"Makes four of us, then, I reckon," Bill said. Then he went on to explain how he'd found Robert after the battle, badly injured and not making much sense. "Just kept on insisting we come 'ere."
"Where were the rest of the men?" asked Sophie, and Mark knew by that she probably meant Dale. "They weren't…?"
"Reckon you lost a fair few — bloody insanity goin' up against them things in the first place." He scratched his stubbled chin. "Tho' I will say this much, you lot gave them Russkies a good hidin'. Not sure what happened to the rest. Like I say, Rob wasn't makin' much sense by the time I showed up."
"How long's he been in there?" asked Tate.
"Good few hours. Wanted to fly 'im back to Mary, but… Do y'think she'll get out with Jack, then?"
Marked opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head.
"What? Is the lass all right?"
Sophie suddenly burst into tears, and turned to Mark, pressing her face into his shoulder. Mark hesitated, then wrapped a comforting arm around her. He was having trouble holding back the tears himself. "Bill, we think Mary might be…"
"What?"
"I was the last one to see her. She was… crushed in a cave-in. Happened when The Tsar attacked. I think we've…" Mark sniffed. "I think we've lost her."
"Judas…"
"No," said a voice, so quietly it might have drifted in on the wind. The three of them turned, Bill automatically raising his gun.
Ther
e, in front of them, was Robert. Or rather, The Hooded Man: features still obscured by the cowl he wore. He was standing straight, in spite of the bandage on his leg, and when he took another step towards them he was hobbling. But this was nothing like the figure Bill had described.
"Robert?" gasped Mark. He'd come up on them so silently, he'd made all of them start. But then, he was good at that; self-trained in this very place.
"No," Robert continued in those hushed tones, ignoring everything but what had been said about Mary. "She can't be."
Bill was staring at Robert in disbelief. Slowly his gun dropped again, but he didn't say anything.
Mark nodded. "I think so. I'm really sorry. Everything happened too fast for me to…" He saw Robert's body stiffen, his back straighten. Then he saw the man's fists clench.
"We have to prepare ourselves," Robert said, his voice strong and sure.
"For what?" Tate asked, but didn't get a reply. Robert had already turned and was walking back towards the visitor's centre. He knew what was about to happen, of that Mark was certain — just as certain as he was that the forest had somehow healed Robert (though later Bill would argue that maybe he'd looked worse than he actually was). The forest had shown Robert what would happen, or at least what might happen without their intervention.
Mark looked at Sophie, then at Tate and Bill. Their confused faces said it all, but he knew exactly what had to be done.
They'd follow Robert, just like always.
So, as the sky began to grow dark and as a light mist started to roll in from the surrounding fields, they did just that.
Followed the lonely figure into Sherwood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sherwood Forest.
It was the most obvious choice, after all. Deep down Adele knew that's where they would go, because she'd followed them there once before. She knew that's where Robert belonged — if he was still alive (no-one seemed to be able to confirm it either way). So it was where Mark, Tate and Sophie would go, too.
They hadn't really needed the torture session with Jack at all: conducted in the smithy, in one of the archways adjoining the stables..
But it had been fun.
Adele — the… what was it Jack had called her just before his interrogation? Oh yes, the femme fatale. The pain Jack had experienced at the hands of this master craftsman, this artiste, had sent tingles through her entire body. He hadn't had time to do a complete number on the man, because The Tsar was demanding results, but it had been enough.
In lieu of his usual equipment, Tanek had made full use of the now dead blacksmith's furnace (after all, he wouldn't be needing it, now he was over in the corner riddled with bullets): the tongs, the poker, the red-hot coals spitting in that square metal tray with open sides, the kind they used in the old Hood's day. He hadn't even asked any questions to begin with, just inflicted his agonies on Jack — the screams of the big man so piercing they could be heard throughout the grounds.
Tied to a chair, and naked apart from a pair of boxers, Jack had looked up at Adele and the sense of betrayal on his slick face was incredible. It was like a physical thing, all adding to the torment the ex-wrestler was enduring. Adele knew that he had been starting to fall in love with her, in spite of everything she'd done to show her 'affections' lay elsewhere — or at least her obsession. With Robert. With his downfall. With his death.
Tanek had even let her have a turn with the irons, sweet man that he was. Her father's second, and now her protector. They'd hardly had a chance to talk since meeting earlier that day, but they hadn't really needed to. Tanek recognised her almost immediately, knew that she was from the great man's stock. And that allegiance continued even after Daddy was gone. Murdered by Robert and his followers; including Jack. It brought her great satisfaction to torture the latter, chasing any last doubts from his mind that she might be talked around or turned.
Or be his.
"Y-You… traitorous s-slut," Jack spat through clenched teeth, love turning to hatred.
She studied his face again, then she kissed him — because she knew that would cause more pain than she ever could with the irons. Adele bit his lip as she pulled away, laughing as the blood dribbled down Jack's chin. "Poor, deluded idiot," she said in her true accent, the one she'd been so careful to conceal during her time playing the helpless heroine.
"Where are the others going?" Tanek asked. Maybe he was uncomfortable with the way the session was going. Maybe he was just jealous. Was he hers for the taking as well? Adele had already observed the way The Tsar had been looking at her. But his time would come soon enough, she understood that. At some point she and Tanek would rule this army, or rather she would — with Tanek by her side. Whether that was as her willing slave, bodyguard or lover — or all three — remained to be seen.
"I saw how this went in Reservoir Dogs. Go screw yourself, pal," Jack breathed. That earned him a slap in the face. Adele could still taste the copper in her mouth as she continued to watch Tanek at work; now picking precise spots on Jack's body and hammering in horseshoe nails. It wouldn't kill him, but would deliver the maximum amount of lasting pain. Tanek hammered them home until Jack passed out. Then he threw a bucket of cold water over him.
But they were getting nowhere. "He'll never talk in the time we've got left," Adele said, and Tanek could see that she was right. Given a couple of days, he could get anyone to talk, even someone as loyal as Jack. But The Tsar was breathing down their necks and, like it or not, he called the shots.
"Let me try a different tack." She brushed a finger over one of the nails. "If you'll pardon the pun."
When Jack was awake, Adele ran a sharp fingernail down his cheek. "If you don't tell us where your little friends have gone, we will execute Mary."
Looking at her through a haze of anguish, Jack spluttered, "Don't have her… Mark said…"
"Oh, in spite of my best efforts she's still alive. Just. But how long she stays that way depends on you, my dearest Jack."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
She couldn't help but smile at that. "You don't, mon cheri. But you have my word as a De Falaise that she will die if you do not co-operate. Now, that really does mean something. That is important to me."
He thought about this for a second or two, weighing everything up and coming to the conclusion that if she'd done all this to avenge her father, then she would never take his name in vain.
"Tell us what we need to know," she'd pressed.
So, hanging his head in shame, he did.
She remembered the shame.
The nights lying awake as he snored beside her. Spent, after he'd done whatever he pleased with her. Of all the places the soldiers could have stuck her.
Focus on Clive Jr, not the room. Not the bedroom where De Falaise kept you locked up, where they are keeping you locked up right now.
Gwen screwed her eyes shut, then opened them. It was just a room, just a room in the castle. At least it was on the ground floor, with no chance of rockets hitting the wall. Not that there was any fighting going on anymore. The Tsar's forces had won, swiftly and confidently.
Perhaps he'll be like the Frenchman, her mind whispered. Do you think he'll want to play games, as well? Dress you up and pretend, while you lay there, catatonic?
Gwen felt sick to her stomach. If Tate was here right now, she might just put her hands around his neck and squeezed. Reverend or no Reverend.
But it could be worse. She was still alive, and so was her son — her one connection to home, to New Hope, to Clive.
Could be in the same state as Mary, she said to herself. Gwen had seen her being carried in, helped by Lucy, the woman who'd assisted when Clive Jr was born. She'd been training as a nurse. And Mary looked like she needed one, looked like she was barely hanging on to life. Gwen had exchanged a brief look with Lucy as they'd passed, and could see pure terror in the woman's eyes. Like she knew it, too. Like she wasn't sure she could pull Mary through.
Gwen had been
bundled into the room then, the door locked behind her. As far as she could tell there weren't many other survivors, unless they were being held in different parts of the castle? Perhaps The Tsar had shot them all?
She wondered what might have happened to Jack, Mark, Sophie… and, yes, Tate. She did still care about him, in spite of herself. Were they all dead, or in the same state as Mary?
But the room. Oh God this room.
It looked different; had no bed in it for a start and had been turned back into some sort of office. Probably where Robert organised his little missions. Just who did he think he was, appointing himself the guardian of this land, withholding vital things like weapons from people who just wanted to protect themselves? Leading suicide squads of young men to their doom? He was lucky they'd go with him, though she had to admit he had a way of sucking people in. Didn't work on her, of course. Too bloody-minded.
Gwen rocked Clive Jr on her knee. "I won't let anything happen to you, sweetheart. Not while there's still breath in my body."
The door lock clicked and Gwen jumped. She watched as the handle slowly turned. When the door opened she felt a lump rise in her throat.
"Remember me?" said the man standing there.
Gwen said nothing.
"I had to see if it was true, that you were back." He grinned, but it came out more like a leer. A leer that stretched the scar across his jawline tight.
"Jace," she said.
"That's right," he chuckled. "You haven't forgotten me, then?"
How could she? He'd been her means of escape, the guard posted to keep an eye on her. She'd lured him inside, then stolen his clothes and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own gun.
"But you were-"
"A prisoner? Just like you were back then? Fucking locked away when I hadn't even done nothin'."
Is that what you really believe? Yes, I think it is.
"Well, the new boss around here's letting all of the prisoners free who want to work for him. Good old Tanek vouched for me."
Shit, he's here as well? One big, happy family reunion.
