the traveller undoubtedly carried would be useful for their camp, but these men were focussed only on the blood they were about to shed. Craving it. Needing it. The wilderness had stripped away their conscience, making them feral and eternally hungry.
Mace led the pack, his strong legs no match for the debris underfoot. He broke free of the city, screaming at the awaiting wilderness. The others joined him; howling wolves on the hunt. And they focussed on the small glint of orange disrupting the impending night.
Had the man already succumbed to terror, Mace wondered. Would they find him with his life already taken? Would they find him running away? Would they find him begging for mercy? Mace hoped so, he didn’t believe in mercy, but he loved hearing the hope of it being pushed through desperate lips. He loved watching hope fail.
Mace’s eyes homed in on the shadowy silhouette of the old man. They had chosen the man over a group of nine travellers heading west. Mace had decided the man was a better certainty. His pack needed to be strong for the impending winter months and easy kills kept morale high. So they tracked the old man for several hours, homing their skills and growing hungrier with each passing minute. But Mace knew he would be sated soon. They all would. Soon there would be blood.
He drew his machete, abandoning his gun altogether. Bullets were hard to come by and for one old man he would take greater pleasure in slicing through skin by his own hand. His pack followed him, raising their knifes and spears, relishing the opportunity to draw blood by the blade.
They were almost on the old man. Mace would strike the first blow. He screamed, his voice filling the wilderness with fury. The old man turned and a flash of fear filled his face. Yes this is it, Mace though to himself, grinning maniacally. He raised his crude knife, ready to strike. But something was wrong.
It was stuck. He was stuck. Mid air, hanging by his own weapon, Mace couldn’t move.
5
The priest fell back. He raised his hands to protect himself from the blade, waiting for his forearms to scream with pain. But nothing happened. When he dared to look his eyes opened wide in disbelief. The man, the beast intent on killing him, was hanging in the air, his face twisted in confusion and fear. The priest scurried back on his hands and knees. The other men were closing in and there was no escape. Was this to be it, his redemption?
He heard a scream to his left and turned to see one of the men fall, a spray of red spattered the sky. Another scream and another body went down. The priest crouched low, backing into his tarp for safety. He stared up at the hovering man and then, behind him in the distance, he could make out a silhouette. The dark figure was smaller than the others. He stood, his arm outstretched, twisting the bandit with the power of his mind. Something moved to the priest’s left. He flinched and saw another shadow, one even smaller, whipping a blade across the belly of a grown man. It looked like a child but moved so quickly the priest couldn’t keep track of what it was. He concentrated on the larger figure, the one that had saved his life and watched as he retracted his hand, sending the bandit hurtling to the ground.
The bandit was shaken. He stared at the priest, as if he was hoping for answers. Then his gaze fell upon the remains of his fallen comrades. He turned back to the priest, his terrifying face transformed into a frightened child. The priest could make out the two shadows coming up from behind and, even though he knew what was coming, he flinched when he saw the knife slice over the bandit’s neck.
The clouds started to clear and the last sliver of evening light illuminated the scene. Eight men dead. And two boys with blood on their hands. The priest could see them more clearly now and neither looked strong enough to even wield a weapon. How had they done this? He sat back in shock.
The taller boy gave him a look and then nudged the younger. Immediately the younger boy turned his attention to the bodies, pulling their weapons and ammunition, piling the spoils up tidily at the side of the carnage. He checked each gun, his small hands making short work of the inspection. The priest could see the boy was dissatisfied with some of the weapons and, after disarming them, he threw them back towards the bodies. He was ruthless and methodical, seemingly undeterred by the death around him.
“Stand up,” the taller boy said.
It took the priest a moment to realise he was being spoken to. Apologetically he clambered ungracefully to his feet.
“Are you armed?”
The priest shook his head. All he had was a small utility knife in his rucksack. He didn’t believe in carrying weapons.
The taller boy clearly didn’t believe him. He waved his hand in he air, as though he were trying to detect a weapon with just his mind. His distrust changed. With a shrug he turned away.
“Wait,” the priest said, reaching out to stop him, but before he could make contact the boy turned. He raised his hand and Darcy fell back. He hit the ground, his body jarring with the impact. He turned back to the boys and it dawned on him what they were. Suddenly he realised why he had been walking cross-country all these months. “Don’t go,” he said from the floor.
The taller boy stood over him, his expression cold and unreadable. “We don’t need to kill you, best for you that it stays that way.”
“Please,” the priest said in frustration. “I need to talk to you.”
The taller boy frowned and then started to laugh. He shook his head and started to walk away.
“You’re Reachers!” the priest shouted.
The taller boy tensed. The younger pointed his recently acquired rifle at the priest. They were both listening, no doubt to hear the sounds of another ambush.
“Please, I’m here to help.”
The taller boy backed away, his eyes fixed on the priest. He helped pick up the pillaged supplies and both boys disappeared into the night.
6
“What’s he doing?” Charlie said from the sanctuary of their embankment. He watched as the old man lined up the bodies and muttered over their corpses. “He’s insane.”
John lifted his head briefly and then turned his attention back to his newly acquired weapons.
“Anything useful?” Charlie said.
“Two. Rest are crap. Six rounds between us.” He passed Charlie a rifle and threw the other over his shoulder.
Local clans were always predictable, Charlie thought to himself. They’d only had to watch Mace for two weeks to understand the man and his habits. After that it was just a case of waiting for the right opportunity. Charlie knew as soon as he picked up the old man’s trail that he would be the one Mace would go for. He knew that Mace would take all his men and weapons, because the fool liked to feel powerful. He knew that it would just be a case of holding him back while John massacred the others. It had been too easy.
Neither boy relished in the killing. It just had to be done. They had to think about the impending winter and making sure they were ready to survive it. The summer routes would be ripe with supplies and having guns made robberies all that much easier.
Charlie looked back at the old man as he started to pack up his camp. Nobody wanted to sleep beside a pile of corpses, especially not in this heat. But Charlie wondered if there was something else going on. The solitary man had unsettled him. Without saying a word to John he gestured that they move out. They’d track the man for a little while longer and see where he went.
7
The priest was compelled to move off the road and walk through the night. He moved slowly but steadily getting as much distance as possible between himself and the massacre. He headed towards a thick copse of trees and decided that this would be where he would stay. It was a case of waiting now and hoping that the boys had followed him. He made his shelter between two hazel trees and then went to collect firewood for the evening.
He sat in his little camp and stared out at the dense foliage, feeling unsettled from the earlier night. The wilderness was plagued with godless people, people without hope, or humanity and he had faced a number of them in his time. He’d seen families butchered for bread and men de
filed for sport. He’d wandered the fallen country for long enough to know his mission couldn’t touch those that had succumbed to the landscape. But he was beginning to doubt whether his mission would be able to do anything for those two lethal Reacher boys either.
The priest stared at the darkness in confusion. Reachers; the label the government had stamped over people with extraordinary psychic abilities. They called them Reachers, created a propaganda to encourage the rest of society to fear them, and now anyone with even a hint of psychic power was arrested and sent for experimentation in the Institute of Paranormal Studies. The priest and his church had devoted everything to keeping God’s chosen people safe.
For more than fifty years the priest had fought for Reachers. He had transported them from war zones, hidden them from people intent on doing them harm. His mission had been simple; ensure they survive.
In his time he had met and helped many Reachers, but he had never seen two like those boys. Most Reachers were harmless, trying to stay alive in a world that didn’t want them. But the boys were everything the government claimed Reachers were; dangerous, powerful, unstoppable. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before and their actions had unnerved him. He looked up at the sky, wondering whether he really could save them, wondering whether they even needed saving.
“Is this what it’s to be? To turn to the darkness now it seems the light is lost?”
The first glittering stars started to stretch above him and he felt a certainty build within him. These boys were different, different from other humans and different from other Reachers, but he had been sent to find them for a reason. Mysterious ways, he thought to himself glumly.
8
Charlie and John watched the old man from the edge of the wood. Another fire had been lit and, despite the trees, it was still easy to make out the camp. The old man had clearly learnt nothing from the previous night. After a couple of minutes a smell filtered through the foliage, one Charlie hadn’t smelt in years. He took a deep breath trying to remember exactly what it was. Then it hit him; the old man was cooking bacon. Charlie’s mouth started to water. He hadn’t eaten proper meat since before the Institute. It was then he looked at John and realised John had probably never had it at all.
“Let’s get something to eat,” he murmured to John.
The younger boy flashed a brief look of surprise.
“He’s on his own and if he’s stupid enough to cook openly then he deserves it. Cover me.”
John nodded and without a word began to move to a flanking position. He moved fast and silent. Charlie did the opposite. He didn’t want to startle the old man into running or doing anything stupid. He made his footsteps heavy, cracking twigs as he approached the camp.
The old man sat by the fire, prodding strips of bacon in a pan. He glanced up just once at Charlie.
It would be easy to rob him, Charlie thought. He had a gun and everything the man had would be his. It didn’t matter that he’d be left with nothing. You didn’t stay alive by caring about others he reminded himself. Charlie had to look after John; nobody else.
“Give me your supplies,” Charlie said, raising his gun.
“Do you want me to finish cooking first?” the old man said. “Sit down, it won’t take long. Do you like tomatoes? I picked some up a couple of days ago.” He carefully reached into his backpack and pulled out two plump tomatoes. Slicing them in half he threw them into the pan.
Charlie couldn’t help but lick his lips.
“Son, I’m too old to fight. Why don’t you sit down, anything you want you can have. I’m happy to give this to you.”
“It’s a trap,” Charlie said, although he didn’t believe it was.
“My name is Darcy,” the old man said. “Father Darcy.”
“So you’re a priest. Doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy.”
Darcy laughed. “No, I suppose not.” He prodded the bacon. “Here we go. I’ve got no plates I’m afraid.” He turned the pan so Charlie could reach the handle. “Save some for the other one, your brother?”
Charlie considered the word carefully and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, he’s my brother.” He couldn’t resist any longer. He fished a piece of bacon out, burning his fingers but he didn’t care. The taste overwhelmed him. He sucked the juices from his fingers and then forced himself to put the pan down, leaving the other slice for John.
“This is a dangerous place for two youngsters such as yourselves.”
“We get by.”
“Yes, I saw that. How long have you been out here?”
“Long enough.” Charlie took a piece of tomato and chewed it slowly. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”
Darcy smiled. “Supporters of the church mission.”
Charlie snorted at the absurdity. “What mission?”
“Protecting Reachers like yourself.”
Charlie paused, he left his second slice of tomato and wiped his hand on his trousers. He eyed Darcy with suspicion. “What makes you think Reachers need protecting? I thought we were dangerous enough on our own.”
Darcy glanced at the fire, there was a strange sadness in his eyes that Charlie couldn’t understand. “Your kind has been decimated. You are hunted, ostracised by those who should look after you. Most of your kind are in hiding, fleeing persecution. They claim it’s because you’re dangerous but you’re not. At least the ones I have helped before aren’t. Most of your kind barely have any paranormal powers at all. I’ve never met any that can do what you can. But the government doesn’t care. They claim you’re a threat to humanity but I know what they want you for. The potential. To see how your powers can benefit them. That’s all anyone wants you for. And because of that we help keep you safe.”
Charlie didn’t care about other Reachers. It had been just him and John for so long he couldn’t even comprehend that there were others like him out there anymore.
“And you can do that can you, get them away from the Institute?” Charlie couldn’t help the bitterness as he asked.
“We hide them as best we can.”
“Why?”
“Because I have faith that you are part of God’s plan and that he has charged me with the task of trying to keep you safe.”
“You’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve heard this kind of bullshit before. You think we’re angels.”
“I think you’re God’s chosen ones.”
“Well we ain’t. We’re just people. That’s all. Regular people. And there ain’t no God or anything neither.”
“Maybe, but I’ve saved twenty-eight of your own kind so far and that at least means something to me.”
Twenty-eight destined for the Institute laboratories - that had Charlie’s attention. He could have been part of that number. But it was too late for him. They’d already caught him, they’d already opened him up and torn him apart.
“Twenty-eight?” Charlie asked.
“Twenty-eight.” Darcy’s focus was back on the fire, as though the number wasn’t quite right.
“Do they all make it?”
The old man shook his head. “No. Which is why I am here? The ones that I can’t save play on my mind.”
“What happens to ones that don’t make it?”
“They die. Or worse.”
“The Institute?”
Darcy shook his head adamantly. “No, never the Institute.”
“Then it doesn’t matter where they go. There’s no place in the world worse than there, not even out here.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Darcy said with a sigh.
“If you had been there you’d know.”
Darcy looked surprised. “You were in the Institute? Both of you?”
Charlie stood up, he didn’t even talk about their time in the Institute with John. That part of his life was over and done with. He didn’t escape to relive it all over again.
“Wait,” Darcy said with urgency. “Tell me about it. Tell me how you got out. If you escaped others may be
able to too.”
“Nobody escapes,” John said coldly from behind Darcy. The younger boy stepped from the shadows, his gun held loosely in his hands.
Darcy turned in surprise. “Your brother was telling me that you both escaped,” Darcy said softly.
John circled the fire. He looked at Charlie and Charlie could see it was the word brother that had John most perturbed. Charlie gave him a quick reassuring nod.
“John’s right. We didn’t escape, we just got out. It’s different. You don’t escape. They take too much from you.”
Darcy gave them both a sympathetic look. “I understand and I’m sorry. You were sent to me for a reason, for a moment I thought that perhaps it was to save those I have never reached.”
Charlie frowned. “We weren’t sent to you. We were tracking the clan. We wanted their weapons.”
“Sometimes some motives are hidden from us,” Darcy said.
Charlie rolled his eyes. He’d dealt with his fair share of religious nutcases before he went to the Institute. Ignoring the old man, he gave John the pan of surplus food and encouraged him to eat it. Gingerly, John plucked a piece of the meat up and nibbled it. His eyes widened in surprise and he greedily devoured the rest of the meat.
“So this is what you do, wander around and hope to find Reachers?” Charlie said.
Darcy smiled. “No. Mostly they find me in my church. I only come out here when I need to clear my head.”
“Dangerous place to clear your head,” Charlie said.
“Perhaps you could accompany me some of the way,” Darcy offered.
Charlie snorted again. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Winter’s coming. We’ve got to survive it and it takes planning.”
“I can look after you during the winter months,” Darcy said with a nonchalant shrug.
The offer made Charlie tense. “Why would you do that?”
“That’s what I do, look after your kind.”
“We can look after ourselves,” Charlie snapped.
“I don’t doubt it. You boys seem more than capable of surviving out here, but after all you’ve been through wouldn’t you prefer a safe place to rest in?”
Charlie didn’t answer. Instead he watched John unashamedly run his finger over the pan and suck the last of the juices clean.
“I can see you want the best for him,” Darcy said to Charlie. “I can offer you a warm bed, ample food, and safety.”
“What do you get in return?”
“Nothing,” Darcy said. “Just like you expect nothing for looking after your brother, I expect nothing for looking after you.”
Charlie glanced again at John. He couldn’t deny he wasn’t tempted. John had never had anything comfortable or safe. Even if it just lasted a few months it was hard to deny him the opportunity.
Darcy stood up and gave the boys another smile. “You don’t have to answer now. The offer is always open. You’ll have to forgive me, all this walking has tired me out. Please help yourselves to anything you want.”
The old man retired under his
The Lost Shepherd Page 2
