The Violent Society

by M C Rooney

  With his bow drawn, Carter watched as a running man came into view. That’s funny, he thought, that running style looks very familiar. Hockey was smiling at Carter now. It seemed he had better eyesight than his old friend.

  “You better step out, John,” Hockey said.

  Why? he wondered. Hockey was always very careful with battles; the only person he ever allowed to show any bravado was himself. Still, he did as he was ordered and stepped onto the pathway.

  The figure slowed as he saw him. Carter took a longer look. Damn, his eyesight was getting bad.

  “Dad!” the figure cried out.

  “Flynn?” he answered in shock. The exhausted young man quickly ran forward and was soon hugging him, and his father was hugging him back.

  “You’re alive! You’re alive!” Flynn said as tears built up in his eyes.

  “Of course I’m alive,” his father answered. “Why would you think I was dead?”

  “Rumours of a battle had spread, Dad,” Flynn replied with a relieved smile as he let go of his father. “They say that a disease hit the camp, Buzz left, and then the sick were killed by an army from the east.”

  “All true,” John said quietly, “but a few of us survived.” He pointed to his friends. “Takes more than a cold to kill me,” he finished with a grin.

  “Yes, it does,” Hockey added truthfully. John Carter strode around the sick camp for days and never got as much as a sniffle.

  “I’m glad you’re alive too, Chief,” Flynn said. “Danni will be happy to see you as well.”

  “No longer Chief, Flynn,” Hockey replied, and his heart skipped a beat at the mention of his daughter.

  ‘Now,” John said, “why were you running so fast, and aren’t you meant to be keeping an eye on the Martins?”

  “Yes, I am, Dad,” Flynn replied, “and the plan with Grant and Eddie is going well, but …”

  “But what?”

  Flynn had suddenly noticed all of his companions. He was looking at the riders and the dogs.

  “It’s all right, Son,” John said, noticing his son’s concerned look. “These are our friends.”

  “But they killed Glen Martin.”

  “Oh no,” muttered Hussein under his breath.

  “Oh fucking shit fuck,” swore Kirstin loudly.

  “Oh …” Wow, that girl sure has got a mouth on her, thought Craig Cheng. “Brett will be on the warpath now,” he said.

  “Is that why you are running to the village?” John asked. “Are you here to warn the Roberts family?”

  “What do you mean the village,” Hockey said in shock. “Is that where you have been taken me?”

  “Yes, I am sorry, Hockey, but it’s something you need to face,” John replied with a firm look.

  “Bloody hell, Carter,” Hockey growled.

  “Before you two start arguing,” Flynn said, “I have to tell you that I have done something else.”

  “What?” his father asked. He didn’t like the sheepish look his son was giving him.

  “Shane and Junior Martin were out in the woods looking for Glen … so …” he replied.

  “You didn’t!” his father exclaimed.

  “I did,” Flynn replied.

  “How far is it to the village?” Hockey asked quietly. He had the look of violence on his face.

  Ozzie Martin

  With twenty men running at his back, Ozzie felt like laughing, if only he could contain his breathing. How had he gotten here? A few days ago, Glen ‘smug bastard’ Martin would have been the one leading this attack, but now the third born son was the one to exact his father’s revenge. He imagined the looks on his brothers’ faces when their father gave him the order. Jealous they were, jealous that he would be the one to carry the honour of the Martin name. He just wished it wasn’t so far, though; he didn’t like running, and he was starting to breathe heavy. He also didn’t want to appear weak in front of his warriors.

  “How many people live there?” Mackenna, his offsider, asked.

  The bastard was hardly working up a sweat, Ozzie thought angrily as he glanced at the skinny old man running by his side. Mackenna was also known as ‘the scruncher’ for reasons he didn’t want to think about just yet.

  “About one hundred,” Ozzie replied as he swept his blond curly hair out of his now red and sweaty face. “But most of them are pacifists who left the clan years ago.”

  “And we kill all of them?”

  “No, just the Roberts,” Ozzie replied as he started to really pant hard.

  “So we are just to kill the Roberts women and children?” he asked with an evil grin.

  “Yes,” Ozzie replied. He needed to take a break soon; his breathing was becoming erratic, and he was feeling dizzy.

  “And do we get to have any … fun with the women?”

  “If you wish,” Ozzie replied. “But first …”

  “But first?” Mackenna asked, confused.

  “First we need to take a rest.”

  “Really?” Mackenna said in shock. “Already?”

  “Yes, I don’t want the men to be tired come killing time.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” Mackenna said and rolled his eyes at a few of the warriors when Ozzie wasn’t looking.

  Lazy bastard, Mackenna thought with disgust. Too much time lounging around in that mansion with his precious family. Still, he was leading him to a bit of rape and killing, he thought with a grin as ‘the scruncher’ felt at his cock. Mackenna couldn’t wait to get started.

  Hockey and his Crew

  “Where are they?” Hockey screamed as he threw the village mayor against the wall.

  “I-I s-sent them away,” Jake Holmes said in a terrified voice. “Glen Martin was killed and, and …”

  Carter was looking at his friend with a calm face, but the rangers from the south were looking at Hockey as if he were a fire-breathing demon from the Underworld.

  “Oh, I know that cunt was killed,” Hockey growled. “I couldn’t give two shits about that. I want to know where my family went.”

  “North-northwest,” the mayor mumbled. “Veronica mentioned something about her son … Buzz.”

  “That makes sense, Hockey,” Carter said. “Buzz is the safest place they could go.”

  “When did they leave?” Hockey asked.

  “Dawn … dawn, they left at dawn.”

  We would quickly catch up to them, Hockey thought Veronica was so stubborn and would not leave any of her belongings behind. “If any of my family are hurt … ” Hockey growled softly as he moved his face inches away from the mayor’s.

  The mayor soiled his pants.

  “C’mon, let’s move now,” Cheng encouraged his old friend.

  “We can catch them quickly,” Flynn said who wanted desperately to see Danni.

  “I don’t want to smell that,” Ian said pinching his nose.

  “Okay, let’s move,” Hockey commanded as the mayor passed out and fell to the ground.

  “Bloody hell,” Hussein muttered as he trotted after the seven Westerners who were all jogging at a steady rate.

  “I knew he was strong,” Kirstin said, “but I thought as he was so old …”

  “I know,” Hussein replied, “and the mayor ordered us to avoid the Martins, but it seems we may have started a war.”

  “That wasn’t our fault.”

  “I know that too.” Hussein grimaced. “But I think we have an obligation to see this through.”

  “Agreed,” Kirstin replied and gave a whistle for her dogs to stay close.

  Sam, Alex, and Ian ran alongside Flynn and all looked at him in wonder. “So you killed Shane and Junior?” asked Sam.

  “Yes,” Flynn replied, “but please keep that information to yourselves; there are still three sons and an angry father out there seeking revenge.”

  “Will do, oh Great Martin Killer,” Sam replied with a grin.

  “I think we should call him MK for short,” Alex said, laughing.

  “Please don’t,” Flynn
pleaded.

  “But Junior is so big and strong … MK,” Sam continued with a small grin.

  “And fortunately, incredibly dumb,” Flynn replied as he told them how Junior died.

  The three Westerners chuckled as they listened to his story.

  “What happened to your beard?” Flynn asked Alex.

  “Rodent blew it off with electricity, MK,” Ian said.

  “Is he serious?” Flynn asked, trying to ignore the nickname.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so, MK,” Alex said as he showed him the scars on his chest.

  “He burned my arm too, MK,” Sam said as he rolled his jacket sleeve up as far as it would go.

  “Those are pretty bad burns,” Flynn said in shock. “How did they heal so fast? And stop calling me that.”

  “Kirstin,” Alex and Sam sighed together and looked back at her riding her horse.

  Ian sighed as well.

  Hockey jogged northwest, focused on the search for his wife. In his alarm he had slipped back to his old violent self. But he was so worried about Vonnie and the girls. He could never express his feelings well, not since he was a teenager, but he was almost in a state of panic now at them being in any danger.

  “Shouldn’t be long,” Carter said as he ran at his side.

  “I should be angry at you for bringing me here without my consent,” Hockey told him.

  “But?” Carter prompted.

  “But I’m not,” he replied. It was fate, he thought, but what fate had in store for them he did not yet know. He would soon find out, though.

  The Martin Mansion

  Grant sat at his desk and commenced his daily work, but his mind kept wandering to the fact that three of the Martin boys were dead. His family had encouraged Flynn to kill Shane and Junior, and at the time, it did seem a good idea. But now, with the father and Brad and Jonas storming in and out of the house and with their loyal warriors carrying extra weapons everywhere, the whole community seemed to be in a state of fear.

  Was it a bad idea to ask Flynn to go out there last night? The Martins needed to be killed, on that they all agreed. But there was an ill feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t quite shake.

  He heard a scream from outside but decided to keep his head down; today was a good day to keep a low profile anyway.

  “Grant,” an old voice said from the doorway.

  Grant looked up and saw Rebecca Roberts standing there looking at him. She is not going to try to flirt with me again, is she? he thought in disgust. But on a closer look, it appeared that concern was the only emotion showing on her wrinkled face.

  “You have a choice to make now, Grant,” she said.

  What the hell was she talking about? “A choice, what choice?” he asked.

  “Come with me,” she said and turned and walked out of the room.

  “What the bloody hell is that old biddy on about now?” he grumbled to himself, but he did as she asked. She was his boss’s relative after all. He followed her into the main lounge room at the front of the house. The window usually had an expansive view of all the huts that covered the land, but this time, all he could see was hundreds of people gathered and watching Brett Martin walk up and down the verandah; he seemed to be screaming at them.

  “You must choose,” Rebecca said again.

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Grant replied.

  “Look at the men in front of Brett,” she replied, “the ones on their knees.”

  Grant could only see Brett, but as the lounge room was so wide, he walked to his left and saw that five men were bound hand and foot and kneeling on the ground. They appeared to be elderly men, and the one on the far right—Oh dear God, no!

  “What are they doing with my grandfather?” he asked frantically.

  “All those men were loyal to my son,” Rebecca replied. “Brett is making an example.”

  “I have to save him,” he mumbled to himself. Where was his knife, he thought, and then realised as a fully clothed man, he no longer carried weapons.

  “No,” Rebecca said sharply, “you have to choose.”

  “What do you mean choose?” he almost wailed at her. His grandfather, his dear old Pop was in danger. He had to save him somehow.

  “Look at the crowd,” she said, pointing. “Do you see the jostling movement? Someone is now barging their way through the crowd.”

  Grant looked at the members of the crowd, who were jam-packed up at the front and only held back by well-armed warriors with batons and swords. But yes, beyond them, he could see lots of people being jostled about. In fact, he could now see two people moving towards the house.

  “Oh no,” Grant moaned.

  “You see, you have to choose now, Grant,” Rebecca said sadly.

  Grant’s heart was pounding madly.

  “Your grandfather is dead; you cannot stop that,” she continued. “If you try to save him, you will also die, and your brothers will soon follow.”

  Rebecca walked over to him, reached up, and held his tearful face in her old hands. “So what do you choose, Grant Hamill?” she asked.

  Grant ran out of the room and went straight out the front door. But instead of running towards his grandfather, he pushed his way past a couple of guards and dove into the crowd. He had to fight and scramble his way towards his brothers. He heard the voice of Brett Martin screaming in the background and saying that none of his family should be touched and traitors will all be killed. But he focused on his brothers and finally managed to grab Gregor and then Gary and held on to them tight.

  “We have to save him!” Gary cried out.

  “They are going to kill him!” Gregor screamed.

  “It’s too late!” Grant shouted back above the yelling of the crowd. He was putting every ounce of strength into holding his little brothers back.

  His brothers suddenly stopped fighting him and looked past him, towards the mansion. Grant turned around and saw his grandfather looking towards them. He smiled at them and gave them a nod. Stay there, his look seemed to say. Stay alive.

  “And this is how traitors are dealt with!” Brett Martin screamed and proceeded to cut all of the five prisoners’ throats. The crowd was silent apart from screams being heard from the victims’ families.

  Grant watched as Brett Martin finally reached his grandfather and slit his throat. He was only vaguely aware that the guards behind the victims had not let his body fall to the ground.

  “But these are old-timers,” Brett said with an evil grin. “They, of course, need a bit of extra killing.”

  And Grant and his brothers looked on as Brett Martin stabbed their grandfather through the eye. It made a squelching noise that everybody could hear, and as he removed the knife, part of his grandfather’s eye came out with it. It was only when he fully killed the five elders that the guards let the lifeless bodies fall. Their grandfather was gone.

  “You see,” Brett Martin screamed out, “that is what happens to traitors!” He pointed his bloody knife at the crowd. “This is what happens when you defy my family. Now get back to work, the lot of you.” He stalked back inside his mansion.

  Grant heard a sobbing noise, but he wasn’t sure if it came from him or one of his brothers. The crowd was still silent. However, it wasn’t the atmosphere of fear that Martin had desperately wanted; it was an atmosphere of disgust. Grant saw a few young men with full clothing give him a look of commiseration, but the anger was in their eyes for all to see. He even saw some of Martin’s warriors look at each other in shame.

  The crowd all soon dispersed until only a few people were left. He saw relatives of the dead come forward to beg for their loved one’s body and thought that he should too.

  “Stay here,” he commanded his brothers. “Don’t move.”

  They nodded their heads, and Gary placed his head on his brother’s shoulder as he openly cried.

  As Grant walked forward towards his grandfather’s body, he saw that Brad Martin was standing nearby with a small smirk on his face. �
��Blood not spirit,” he murmured as he gently lifted his grandfather’s body.

  “I guess you won’t be working for us anymore,” Brad Martin said with a laugh.

  There was blood all over the verandah floor. Perhaps they would wipe it off, or maybe leave it there as another form of their so-called examples.

  “You guessed right,” Grant replied. But I will be working. I will be working very hard.

  The Roberts Family

  The husbands of her daughters trudged through the mud as they pushed and pulled their carts to the safety of Buzz’s clan.

  “Perhaps we should leave the carts,” Veronica said in a sign of how nervous she had become. She spent half of her journey looking behind her.

  “No way, Mother,” Caroline replied. “It took years to make some of the furniture and the clothing from the hemp crop. I’m not giving them up.”

  Dammit, that girl is almost as stubborn as I was at her age. “But the weather is slowing us down, Daughter.”

  “It will always slow us down.”

  Why did it rain so often; surely the planet was healing itself by now? Or maybe it took longer than a century for the air to clear and the temperatures to become steadier.

  “What if they are following us, Caroline?” she said. “Are you ready to put your babes at risk?”

  Caroline stopped and looked behind her as well. “No, I’m not, Mum.” Caroline was starting to look nervous herself.

  What am I doing? Am I protecting them or worrying them to death?

  “My eldest is back there,” Kerri called back to her. “He will give us some warning if they come.”

  Her eldest boy, Darren, was nearly twenty years of age. He was a good lad, intelligent, and displayed some of his grandfather’s physique.

  “But what if there are dozens of them?” Veronica replied. “They will go—”

  She noticed that Kerri and her other daughters had all gone very still. The husbands had stopped pulling their carts and were looking behind them as well.