Paul turned. It was Father Claudio, standing next to him. He looked so much older, all of a sudden, the ironic spark in his blue eyes faded. He was holding a small piece of white material, stained in the brown shades of mud and blood.
“What’s–?” Paul began, but then he understood. It was his clerical collar. It must have come off during all the commotion. He hesitated, asking himself whether he was still worthy of wearing it. That’s not the right question, a voice inside him said. You should be wondering if you’re still willing to wear it.
Paul could not answer that, now. He extended a hand, under Claudio’s penetrating gaze. He knows how I feel. He’s felt this way for a long, long time.
But before he could grab it, someone spoke.
It was the men in black. They were closer, now. Three of them, striding towards the castle. Behind the breached walls, there were few of Bately’s people left. Most were outside, in the square, crouching by the ones they’d lost.
Their leader had neared the castle walls, too. He stopped twenty or so yards away, behind his men. He stood in silence, his eyes fixed on Paul and his friends.
“Where’s the priest?” one of them asked, when they had reached the gates. The question registered with Paul, but he couldn’t quite pull his eyes off the man standing behind them.
He surveyed his features. He was about forty, and shorter than he’d looked from afar. Broad-shouldered, hair and eyes as black as his uniform. The eyes – Paul studied them. They were wide and sad, looming above narrow, cruel lips. Their gaze was magnetic, and something in them suggested they belonged to a man of a million imponderable thoughts.
This is a leader, if ever I have met one.
Paul realised no one had spoken. The uniformed man in front of them repeated his question, “Who is Paul, your priest? If he survived, tell us where he is.”
Everyone here knew who he was. And yet they were holding back, refusing to reveal his identity to them. Clearly, they all thought it would be dangerous, for him. He believed they might be right. But what if these men threatened them? How long would the secret be kept? Paul felt a hushed pressure mounting around him.
There was no point in hiding. They’d surely identify him, sooner or later. And, however tormented his faith was at the moment, he wasn’t yet at the stage where he’d lie about being a priest.
But before he could speak, he felt something moving in his pocket. Paul looked down and saw that Claudio was stuffing something inside it. Quick, secretive movements, eyes held on the dark soldiers.
“Claudio, what are–?” he whispered.
Claudio stepped forward, and spoke in a loud, bold voice. “I am Paul. Father Paul, that is.”
Silence. In the back, Paul saw their leader lock his gaze on the old priest. For a long beat, he studied Claudio. Evaluating him carefully, as you’d do when confronting a traitor. Only now did Paul notice he was wearing a long, dark cloak, that flowed elegantly behind him.
The men walked towards Claudio, their deliberate strides causing those in their way to hurriedly step back.
His fellow priest held their stare, the corner of his lip twisted mockingly. He nodded towards their silent leader in the back. “Nice cloak,” he said.
They ignored the comment. “You’re Paul?” one of them asked.
The old priest sighed, as if these men were wasting his precious time. “I’ve already answered that question,” Claudio said coldly. “My question now is, who the hell are you? Who’s that?” he asked, pointing a finger at their leader.
Paul felt his heart stop. These men were clearly dangerous, ruthless, and Claudio was playing a risky game by antagonising them.
“You’ve got quite a tongue on you, for a priest,” the man said.
“He’s the Warden, old man,” spat out another of the armed men. “Show him respect.”
“Warden, eh?” Claudio asked with a chuckle. “Sounds important.”
Once again, his comments were ignored. The man standing before Claudio studied the priest’s features, eyes narrow and chin slightly tilted backwards. “You’re the priest,” he said, not entirely convinced.
Claudio made a scene of unzipping his coat, and revealing his own collar beneath it. “Is this enough?” he asked impatiently. “Do you want to me to recite a prayer in Latin? Discuss theology, maybe?”
Easy, Claudio. Easy now. Again, Paul’s eyes drifted towards the man they had called the Warden.
And Paul noticed he was staring straight at him.
All of a sudden, the young priest felt naked, exposed. That dark gaze meeting his own, probing, digging, doubting.
He knows, Paul thought. He knows Claudio is lying and that I’m the priest he’s after.
But the man’s eyes shifted back to Claudio. Paul found himself breathing again, his heartbeat uneven. Like stepping back onto a solid surface, after staring for too long into the abyss.
“Are we done, here?” asked Claudio.
The dark soldiers exchanged glances. They peered towards their commander. He nodded – a faint, almost imperceptible lowering of the chin. When they spoke again, their tone was lighter, as if everything had been settled.
“All right. Go and mourn your dead. Or go to rest. You need sleep.”
Behind them, the Warden pivoted gracefully, his cloak fluttering behind him. His men followed.
But there was an instant, a brief flicker of time in which his eyes met Paul’s again.
I know, his expression said. I know.
Then, the men were off, swift black shadows in the dying night.
Chapter 4
Missing
“Cathy, please come.”
It was Mathew. He was kneeling by his father. Edward was lying in a pool of blood, and appeared to be very weak. His wife Lucy stood nearby, arms crossed on her chest, frowning.
Cathy hesitated. As a nurse, she’d normally spring into action, helping as best she could. But Moore had lied to her. He’d concealed the fact he was married, until Lucy had appeared out of nowhere, dropping that bombshell on her. He’d lied his way into her bed, hurting her feelings a lot more than she cared to admit.
Yes, all right. So you’re going to let him bleed to death because of that, are you? Come on girl, pull yourself together.
“Cathy…?” Mathew stared at her, eyes begging her to do something.
“Yes – yes, of course,” she hurried towards them, and began examining Moore’s leg. A quick glance told her a bullet had struck him. She lay her hands on his torn trousers, delicately peeling back the tattered strips of fabric. They were drenched in blood.
“Cathy, I–” Edward began, his voice feeble.
“Try not to speak, Moore,” she interrupted him. “Save your breath.”
Two of the men stepped out of the castle. One of them was speaking into a walkie-talkie. “The castle is clear,” he said. “Waiting for Johnson to report back.” They walked past Cathy and the others, their voices fading along with them.
“The castle… clear?” Paul repeated, as if talking to himself. His eyes grew wide with concern. “Where are the children?”
* * *
No one had seen them.
“They were in the castle, when I left,” said Claudio.
Lucy turned to Paul, shaking her head. “No, I went back inside to fetch a coat for Mathew. They weren’t there.”
Paul and Neeson left the others behind, and hurriedly set off to search the castle. “If they’re here, well find them, Father,” Neeson said. His tone was so serious, so determined, that Paul thought he could almost believe him.
Corridor after corridor, hall after hall, the two men advanced. They called out the children’s names until their voices were hoarse, but there was no sign of them.
Then, they finally heard footsteps. “Alice?” Paul called out, “Adr–”
Neeson held a hand against his chest.
“Shh. Wait.” They crept towards the sound. It was more than one person. Yes… two people maybe. There were murmurs,
moans, heavy breathing.
They’re hurt, Paul screamed inside his head. Oh good Lord they are hurt–
They turned a corner, and found a staircase leading upwards. Three men were descending it. Two of them huffing and panting, while they carried the third, who appeared to be unconscious. The soldiers glanced towards Neeson and Paul. Their expressions were hostile, but they were clearly too busy with the task at hand to deal with them.
“Leave the castle. Now,” one of them ordered.
“No. We–” began Paul.
With his free hand, one of the men drew a out a pistol, and pointed it at them. “I said leave.”
Paul was about to say something, but Neeson interrupted him.
“Yes, all right. We’re leaving.”
The priest looked at him. What about the children?
Neeson raised an eyebrow towards the man they were carrying. Paul looked at him.
Dangling from his limp hand, was Alice’s jumper. It was torn, but Paul recognised it instantly. Before he could say anything, Neeson ushered him out of the room.
“I think they got away, Father,” Neeson whispered, when they had put enough distance between them and those men. “And by the looks of that guy, they fought their way out.”
* * *
“I have to go and look for them.”
They were sitting in the small waiting room in Cathy’s clinic. The ’wraiths had made a mess of the place, while scavenging and looting. Boxes of medicines were scattered all over the floor, paintings and posters had been torn off the walls. A chilling breeze drifted in from a shattered window.
Cathy had scraped together just enough meds to treat Edward’s wound. He was sleeping in the visiting room, next door. The others sat in a circle, on the few items of furniture that had survived the attack. Paul, Cathy, Claudio, Lucy, Neeson. Mathew had refused to leave his father alone, and was by his side, in the other room.
“I’ll leave now. The sooner I set off, the likelier I am to catch up with them,” Paul said.
Cathy sighed. “But where are you going to go?”
“Any idea where they might be heading?” asked Neeson.
Paul slowly shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “But I can’t… I can’t just sit here, hoping they’ll be safe.”
Claudio rose, and walked towards an electric kettle that had been knocked to the floor. “Where do you keep the tea, Cathy?” he asked, as he picked it up, and plugged it into the wall. She pointed towards a cabinet. “I think we could all do with a cup of tea, now,” the old priest said. But Paul was frustrated. Every second spent in here, uselessly trying to decide what to do, or sipping on mugs of tea, was time wasted. Time he could be spending looking for the children.
Mathew crept into the room, gently closing the door behind him.
“How’s your father?” asked Lucy.
“Better, I think. He’s dozed off.” The relief on Mathew’s face was plain. He looked towards Cathy. “Thank you. You saved him.”
“Oh–” Cathy began, somewhat uneasily. “Well, you know. It’s my duty, really.” She smiled, suddenly embarrassed. When she looked up, Lucy was staring at her, a quizzical twitch in her eyebrows.
“I heard you were talking about Ady and Alice,” Mathew added, as he sat down on a chest of drawers that had been knocked over.
Paul’s head whipped towards him. “Do you know where they might be?”
“Well…” The boy paused, uncertain.
“Anything you know might be of help,” Paul said, reassuringly. “Go ahead, son.”
“So, I’m not sure about this, but the other day, when you were in the meeting… you know, when the Afflicted left town with that Jeremy bloke–”
“Yes, yes,” Paul said. He was aware of the sense of urgency in his voice, but there was no time to waste. “Go on.”
“So… I was talking to them about our trip down from London, with Dad…” Again, Mathew paused, the images of that journey, its dangers, clearly still vivid in his memory. “Anyway, I told them about Tonbridge. How it was well-guarded, and how we had tried to get in there. They shot at us, told us to leave.”
The others nodded. When they had first met Edward, he’d joined one of their Council meetings, and told them about the trip he and his son had faced.
“And,” Mathew continued, “Adrian kept asking me about Tonbridge… he looked very interested, wanted to know if I thought they might have let us in, if we’d insisted.” He looked down, shuffling his feet. “That’s it, really. I’m not one hundred percent sure they’d want to go there, but–”
“Thank you, Mathew. Really,” Paul said, rising.
Claudio was handing out cups of warm tea. He glanced over at Paul, concerned. “Wait, Paul. This isn’t much to work with. Maybe you should–”
“It’s enough for me,” he said, buttoning up his coat. He observed his friends. “I’m sorry, but I have to start somewhere.”
Neeson cleared his throat. “I agree. You should go as soon as you can.”
“What, alone?” asked Cathy, surprised. “That’s insane.”
“Cathy,” said Neeson, jabbing a thumb towards the window. “I doubt these people would let us flock out of town, as if nothing had happened. They are occupiers, we are prisoners, however charming that Warden fellow might be.” His eyes returned to Paul. “If Father Paul sets off on his own, while they’re busy cleaning up the square, he has better chances of getting past them, and finding the children.”
“Exactly,” said Paul. He was eager to leave.
“Ridiculous,” Cathy said, shaking her head. “I’m coming with you.” She stood up, ready to go with him.
“But, my dad…” Mathew let the words hang there. Cathy stopped, her resolve now wavering.
“Cathy, you’re needed here,” Paul said. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can, and we’ll… sort this whole thing out,” we waved a hand in the air, to indicate the nightmare Bately had plunged into. These men in black uniforms. “But first – the children.” He smiled, sadly. Let me go, Cathy, his eyes said.
After a long pause, she nodded, teeth biting into her lip.
Then came an awkward dance of embraces and farewells, hugs tightened by the fear this might be the last time they saw Paul.
Claudio wrapped his large hands around his shoulders. “Be careful, Pablo,” he said. The shine in his eyes was back, noticed Paul. But this time, it was not irony, but tears.
“I will.”
“And bring those children to safety,” Claudio added, with a firm nod.
Paul stepped out into the street, its unwelcome chill making him shudder. He turned once more towards the clinic, to his friends inside it, and thought about how strange goodbyes had become, in the post-apocalyptic world. They were so different from the light-hearted partings of the past.
Now, you never knew if you’d meet again.
Chapter 5
The Flying Machine
Sean held his breath and gripped the leather armrest. This was impossible.
They were flying.
Flying.
He felt like laughing, screaming, fainting. Thoughts darted through his mind like explosive streams of data flowing too fast to be processed. He had to fight the urge to turn towards his mysterious fellow passengers and shout, Hey, we’re fucking flying here, do you realise that?
It had all happened so quickly. Once he’d stepped out of that battered Jeep, just a couple of hours earlier, everything had changed. An instant, and he was torn from his old life and thrust into a whole new world.
It was still dark, when they had got there. He’d caught glimpses of shadows – people moving around, busying themselves with the preparations. Sean had felt eyes upon him, heard words whispered in low voices. But nothing had mattered, not these unknown figures, not Jeremy, not even the fate of Bately. Everything lost importance, when he saw the plane.
It sat, strange and majestic, in that open field, faded drops of moonlight dappled on its wings like shiny remnants
of some ancient spell. It was so big, so pristine, like it didn’t belong there. As if it had just flown out of a dream.
Sean didn’t know for how long he stood there, open-mouthed. Jeremy had chuckled, at some point. “Yes, Sean. It’s a plane,” he’d said. “And you’re booked to fly tonight.” He rested his hand on Sean’s back, and gently pushed him towards it. “Come now, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
As they walked forth, the other men stood to attention, like Sean and Jeremy were some sort of generals inspecting their troops. Maybe that’s what Jeremy is, he said to himself. A weird hippy-general combo. As soon as they walked past them, the men got back to work, packing boxes and loading them on the plane.
Sitting under a wing, with a laptop computer open on his knees, was a young man. He was about Sean’s age, skinny, dark curly hair pouring over wide doe eyes. He hastily began to stand, almost dropping the computer while doing so. His lanky arms darted down, trying to grab a hold of it. Then, with an awkward smile, he straightened his back and said, “Sorry, I–”
“It’s okay, Alec,” said Jeremy warmly. He patted the boy on the shoulder. “I’m happy to see you again.”
“So am I.” The boy’s voice was sincere, and it struck Sean as odd that anyone would be happy to run into Jeremy.
The boy looked at Sean. “Is this…?”
Jeremy smiled. “Indeed he is,” he turned towards Sean, a proud smile curling his lips. “Redpill, the legendary hacker.” There was no irony to his tone.
Alec was flustered. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could manage was a weird croak. His fixed stare was making Sean feel uncomfortable. He extended a hand towards the nervous guy, just to try and get him out of that weird freeze state. “Hi mate, I’m Sean.”
The other boy shook himself out of his daze. He grabbed Sean’s hand with trembling fingers. “Redpill, I’m Alec – Checkmate.”
The handle rang a bell in Sean’s mind, but he couldn’t quite place it. Noticing his hesitation, Alec added, “We worked together on OilOp… the NorthSea Corp DDoS.”
OilOp had been one of their most notorious hacktivist operations, hitting the corporation’s bank accounts, releasing sensitive and law-violating information (which eventually led to the imprisonment of the CEO and most of the company’s board of directors), and taking down its website.
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