Journey from Darkness

by Gareth Crocker

  As he inspected it, he realised that the panel was in fact not damaged at all, but was simply held in place by a minute lever that had sprung open on impact. But there was something else. Behind the open panel was what appeared to be a hidden compartment.

  A compartment with something inside it.

  He tipped the watch into his palm and, to his growing surprise, a folded piece of paper tumbled out.

  What the hell? It was a photograph.

  He felt his pulse quicken. Whatever this was, it had to have belonged to his father.

  With trembling fingers, he slowly unfurled its worn edges.

  It was a faded picture of an attractive young woman clutching what appeared to be a rumpled blanket to her chest. On closer inspection, he saw that it held two infants.

  ‘What is this?’ he whispered.

  Confused, he turned the picture around and could only just make out a faint note scribbled in pencil on the back. He craned his head and blinked the dust from his eyes.

  And then, everything changed.

  Nine spindly grey words finally provided the answer to a question he had been asking his entire life. At last, he could put a face to her name.

  St Catherine’s Hospital, West London.

  Anne, Derek and Edward.

  43

  Xavier sat on the steps outside the blood hut and worked quietly with his knife. He could not recall when last he had felt so content in his own skin, so at ease with himself. Even though wet work often bored him, today he was absorbed by it. He wanted his handiwork to be flawless, to make sure it sent a clear and compelling message – he was a craftsman, after all. The three policemen had chosen to reveal themselves and had made it clear that they wished to engage him. That had been a mistake. Because now they would be granted their wish.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Requin asked, peering over his brother’s shoulder.

  Xavier wiped his hands across his bare chest, leaving claws of blood on his skin.

  ‘Accepting an invitation,’ he murmured.

  ‘Is this for those policemen?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You know they’re going to come sniffing around here again? Like bastard dogs.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Why don’t we head north for a while? Leave here for a few weeks.’

  Xavier stopped cutting.

  ‘No. I–I just– I’m not saying that we–’ Requin stammered, backpedalling.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?’

  Requin held up his hands as an apology. ‘I understand. How do you want to handle this?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘You want to go after them?’

  ‘Of course. But first I’m going to send them a message. I want to get inside their heads,’ Xavier explained, still gently sawing with his knife. ‘It all begins tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Right now? Nothing. But I will need you later,’ he replied, and then straightened up to admire his work.

  Yes, he thought. This was a fitting entrée. It would give these men some idea of what they had started, of what was coming for them.

  Of who they had invited into their house.

  44

  Noah and Morgan were sitting on either side of the only desk of any real size in their cramped police station – an essentially square room with a modest holding cell attached – when the door opened.

  ‘Morning, Joe,’ Morgan said warmly, swallowing the last of his coffee. ‘What’s in the box?’

  ‘No idea. I thought you might know. I just found it outside.’

  Noah looked up from his newspaper. ‘Outside where?’

  ‘Right next to the door.’

  ‘What? It must’ve just arrived, then. We’ve only been here for a few minutes.’

  ‘But why was it left outside?’ Morgan asked.

  Noah frowned. ‘Presumably because whoever delivered it didn’t want to be seen.’

  As Joe placed the box down on the large desk, Noah and Morgan both leaned forward. Made from cheap pine slats and a solid pine lid, it carried no markings of any kind; neither was there an accompanying letter. It was just a plain wooden box – an anonymous delivery that had been made to a police station. Innocuous under normal circumstances, but not today.

  ‘Unless it’s someone’s birthday,’ Morgan began, ‘I think we all know who this is from.’

  Joe withdrew his pocket knife and carefully set about removing the four small nails that held the lid in place. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Moving slowly, he lifted the lid to reveal a bed of fresh sawdust. He gently scooped out the wooden shavings until his hand brushed over a soft black cloth. He looked up at Noah and Morgan, paused, and then peeled it away.

  Lying side by side were the severed heads of three adult vultures, their large hooked beaks dominating cruel salt-and-pepper faces. Their eyes had been artfully cut out and replaced with bullets – each engraved with a familiar signature.

  For a while, neither of the men said anything.

  ‘I don’t suppose they were born this way,’ Morgan finally said.

  ‘Three heads … three of us. I get that,’ Joe said. ‘But why vultures?’

  ‘Bush lore,’ Noah explained. ‘Some of our tribes believe that vultures are the harbingers of death, that they come to take your soul if you’ve angered your ancestors.’

  ‘Of course,’ Joe nodded. ‘Angels of death.’

  For a while, all three men were silent.

  ‘Aren’t the bad guys supposed to run away from the good guys? Isn’t that how it normally works?’

  Joe shrugged, shook his head. ‘Look around you, Morgan. It’s just us. What difference do you think the law really makes? Especially out here in the middle of nowhere. If these men are legionnaires who made it out of the war, they’re not going to care a damn about our badges.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  Joe tapped his fingers against the side of the box. ‘I’m saying I don’t think we have much of a choice anymore. We have to go after them.’

  ‘No. Forget it, Joe,’ Noah intervened. ‘This doesn’t change anything.’

  ‘Noah, with respect, these men are going to come after us whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not. We can’t just sit back and wait for them.’

  ‘We stick to the plan. We keep following them. They’ll make a mistake soon enough.’

  ‘The mistake,’ Joe replied, ‘would be to do nothing here.’

  ‘They’re just trying to scare us. This is schoolyard stuff. Think about it. If they wanted to come through the door this morning and shoot us, they could have. This is nothing.’

  ‘I know I’m a guest here, Noah, and I respect your regard for the law, but I’m telling you these men are coming for us.’

  ‘And you know this for a fact?’

  ‘I’ve known men like this before.’

  ‘As have I. And I’m still standing here.’

  ‘I’m right about this, Noah.’

  ‘Then why didn’t they kill us this morning? Instead of putting bullets in a box, why didn’t they put them in our heads? What are they waiting for?’

  ‘Because this is the start of a hunt, not the end of one.’

  ‘You’re grasping for something that is not there.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Noah turned away. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and withdrew a folded handkerchief which he ran across his face. ‘Look, it really doesn’t matter what either of us thinks. We’re not the aggressors here. We’re not murderers. Nothing changes that. We can apply more pressure, force their hand even, but that’s it. When the time’s right, we’ll bring them in.’

  Joe thought about pushing the point, but decided against it. ‘Then I think we had better start looking over our shoulders,’ he said, prodding one of the dead birds with his knife. Its bullet eyes glimmered in the morning light. ‘Because the vultures are coming.’

&nb
sp; A pair of unseen hands reached across the sky and pulled over a tarpaulin of faint stars.

  ‘How much further?’ Morgan asked, his face a spill of milk in the fading light.

  ‘Any minute now,’ Noah replied, using a long branch to probe for traps in the grass.

  The words had barely cleared his mouth when Joe saw it. ‘There,’ he whispered, pointing to their right. Through a narrow gap in the trees, a light danced on a distant window sill.

  ‘Being an angel of death can’t pay too well,’ Morgan suggested, noticing that many of the scarlet slats were pulling away from the hut’s frame.

  ‘Let’s wait here a while,’ Noah said, sinking onto his haunches.

  Joe checked his rifle and was about to comment when a gunshot tore through the night.

  Noah was the first to react. ‘Down!’

  They hit the ground almost simultaneously.

  Had Xavier somehow seen them coming? Had they walked into a trap? Were they under attack? Joe lifted his head a fraction just as the front door swung open. Xavier emerged in the dim light carrying his rifle in one hand and a large brown sack in the other. He threw the sack down and then dipped his arm inside it.

  Morgan recognised the sound. ‘Bottles.’

  Together, they watched as Xavier carefully placed his rifle across the bridge of his foot and then flung the first bottle high into the air. With a quick flick of his ankle the rifle was in his hands. A moment later the flying bottle was reduced to a fountain of broken glass. He then repeated the exercise, throwing the bottles in different directions, but always starting with the rifle balanced on his foot.

  In all, he fired a dozen rounds.

  Not a single bottle survived its flight.

  ‘He knows we’re here,’ Joe said, finally.

  ‘What?’ Noah asked. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘This little performance is for our benefit. He’s showing us what he’s capable of.’

  Noah allowed the thought to turn over in his mind, just as Xavier lowered his rifle and began to bow to all corners of the bush.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with this man?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘My guess? Just about everything,’ Joe answered, and then glanced across at Noah. ‘Still think he won’t put a bullet in your head?’

  45

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ Edward announced, staring into the swaying fingers of their campfire.

  Andrew was carefully piloting his razor over the top of his head. ‘No offence, but you have a bad feeling about most things that concern your brother.’

  ‘You don’t know him like I do. Something’s let go in his mind. I know it.’

  ‘Why? Because he’s cut up about Shawu’s family? We’re all upset about it.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. In many ways he’s a lot harder and more resilient than me, but in other ways he …’ Edward began, searching for the right words.

  ‘What?’

  ‘… bleeds easily. He gets swept away by things. For years I’ve watched him invest so much of himself in causes that have only brought him pain. Whatever’s happening to Shawu right now, you can be sure it’s happening to him as well. He’s living and breathing every moment of it.’

  ‘Look, if you’re that concerned about him we could track him down and bring him back here.’

  Edward smiled, but there was no levity in his eyes.

  ‘What? You don’t think we could persuade him to come back with us?’

  ‘Not unless your approach involves a rifle and a length of rope. No, I’m afraid we won’t be able to change his mind. We’re just going to have to wait it out and see what happens.’

  ‘And what do you think is going to happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just get the feeling that he’s attached his fate to Shawu’s. What happens to her, happens to him. It’s just who he is. Who he’s always been.’

  ‘I think this is just a bit of campfire fever. You’re getting a little carried away with your concern for a man who, need I remind you, survived a war.’

  ‘I’m not so sure I am.’

  Andrew winced as the razor drew blood over his temple. ‘So let’s consider a worst-case scenario. Let’s say Shawu doesn’t make it. What then? What do you think he’ll do?’

  Edward shrugged. ‘I couldn’t tell you. But no good will come of it, that much I know.’

  ‘Come on, you don’t think he’s going to …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do something stupid?’

  Edward did not reply.

  ‘He’s got you, Edward. He’s not going anywhere. He’s not suicidal.’

  ‘I’m not saying he’ll take his life. I’m saying he could do something reckless to give it away. His biggest problem has always been his inability to see his life, or his circumstances, in context. He’s never been able to lift his head out of the moment. He is driven almost purely by his emotions. I’m not exaggerating. I’ve watched it happen, time and time again.’

  Andrew slipped his razor into his pocket and wiped his head with a damp towel. ‘Do you want to know what I really think?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, feeling a sudden need to steer their conversation into lighter territory. ‘But thanks for offering.’

  46

  Shawu was striding out now, her eyes fastened to the horizon. Derek had to draw on the very last of his reserves to keep up with her. It was as if she was again being pursued by a wild bushfire, but this time only she could see the gathering flames. He was becoming increasingly convinced that something had finally unhitched itself in her mind. It was early nightfall when she eventually relented, slowing and then drawing to a halt under a large stone overhang on the southern bank of the river. Derek took a few minutes to catch his breath before approaching her. Every part of his body was screaming at him, protesting against the relentless pace. ‘What are you running from? What am I missing?’ he huffed, desperate to understand what was happening. ‘What do you know, girl?’

  Answer me! he almost shouted at her.

  Shawu stared back at him, her large eyes like ruby ovals in the failing light.

  He threw up his arms in frustration. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening here. This doesn’t make any bloody sense!’

  She blinked at him, flapped her ears and then turned to look back down the river.

  What could he possibly be missing? he wondered again. And how much longer would he be able to keep up with her? Stepping away, he removed his bag from his shoulder and saw that the weight of the straps had caused regiments of angry red blisters to flare up. Ignoring them as best he could – a strategy that had so far served him well with his various ailments – he looked up and, despite his black mood, noticed something quite remarkable. The rock ceiling that extended over them was dotted with tiny green lights. Brilliant emerald stars. There were hundreds of them. As he scanned across the alien starlight, he noticed that some of them were moving.

  ‘Glow worms,’ he said, answering his own question.

  While he watched their luminescent bodies shift and flicker across the stone sky, he again tried to apply his mind to what was happening to Shawu. Why the extraordinary change in her behaviour? What was the rush? Poachers? Lions? Was she trying to outrun the memory of her dead family? An approaching flood? The more he thought about it, the more he kept coming back to the same nagging question. One that both puzzled and concerned him in equal measure: What could possibly provoke a Desert Elephant to such an extent?

  The facts simply did not add up. Shawu had already shown remarkable courage so far on their journey. Why was she now so unnerved? What did she believe was pursuing them? Or was he thinking of it in the wrong terms? Was it merely a symptom of her deteriorating mind? And yet, somehow despite all the noise in his head, Andrew’s words kept coming back at him: Elephants just know things.

  He sat down and looked out over the horizon. Dark cloth-like figures – the tailcoats of a bad dream – pitched and wheeled against an early night. T
he bloated moon that hung over them had never looked more like a watchful eye than it did right now. He suddenly wondered if it was a coincidence that Shawu had chosen to rest under a rock overhang. Or was she trying to hide from something?

  If Shawu hadn’t lost her mind, what was coming after them?

  What the hell was coming?

  47

  The three lawmen drove in silence. It was a quiet born neither from their recent disagreements nor from the narrow rift that had opened between them. It was simply a period of troubled contemplation. They were on their way back to the blood hut, another information-gathering foray to learn more about their adversaries. Or, as Joe saw it, another exercise in futility.

  And then, in the lingering disquiet, chaos.

  Their truck lurched suddenly and violently as though its front axle had collapsed. Morgan wrestled with the wheel, but was powerless to halt its slide. The truck slipped and skipped uncontrollably across the gravel before smashing into the base of a large thorn tree.

  Noah coughed as dust flooded the cabin. ‘Everyone all right?’

  ‘Ahhh, shit!’ Morgan groaned, then rubbed his left wrist. ‘I’m okay. I think.’

  Joe had hit his head on the doorpost and a thin vein of bright red oozed down his cheek giving the impression that his hair was bleeding. ‘I’ll live.’

  Together, they slowly emerged from the truck, dazed from the impact. Noah was massaging the side of his neck. ‘Did we hit something?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joe replied. ‘A goddamn tree.’

  ‘I mean in the road. Did we drive over anything, Morgan?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I sure as hell didn’t see anything.’

  They moved to the far side of the truck where the passenger door had met with the tree.

  There was a gaping hole in the front left tyre. ‘The tyre’s blown out,’ Morgan announced, stating the obvious.

  Joe used his sleeve to mop up the blood on his face. ‘How’s the suspension?’

  Gingerly, Morgan crouched onto his knees and inspected the truck’s undercarriage. He reached out and pulled on the struts. ‘Seems all right.’