But Jeremy was sitting placidly, his body rocking from side to side, just like Sean’s was. Yet, his eyes were clear, calm, his lips parted in an amused smile. Like an elderly grandfather accompanying the grandchildren on a ride at the park.
“It’s fine, Sean,” he said, his low voice almost inaudible above the tumult. “It’s all fine.”
Those words, the old man’s expression, made it all worse. He knew Jeremy was weird, frightening also. Now, he was certain the hippie was also completely insane.
The jet seemed to stumble, suddenly, like whatever physical force was holding it up had given in, abandoning them. Sean gasped.
“We should be through the clouds by now,” whispered Checkmate’s trembling voice.
Shutthefuckup shutthefuckup shuttheFUCKup
Were they flying or falling? Sean couldn’t tell. He closed his eyes, and wished he was back in Bately, before the impact, simply sitting at his computer with Nan sipping tea in the next room.
The engines howled. Or perhaps it was the wind. Or himself.
Suddenly, the black screen of his tightened eyelids became lighter. The jet seemed to stop shaking, and Sean opened his eyes. The clouds were still there, but different, now. They floated by gracefully, and their colour was a hue he’d almost forgotten. The delicate white of untarnished snow.
An instant later, they were gone. And for the first time in nine months, Sean was looking at the open sky.
* * *
He let out quick, broken breaths through his quivering lips. He was crying.
The sky was blue and vast and perfect. Somewhere above him, the sun shone warm rays of light on his skin.
How could I forget? he asked himself, peering through the window at the immaculate expanse beyond it. How could I forget what this looks like?
“Look at that,” Checkmate said, his voice filled with awe. Sean followed his gaze and peered down. It was like looking into hell.
Below them an endless storm was raging. Dark clouds streaked by sudden flashes of lightning, stretching out as far as he could see. This was the wrathful cloak that had wrapped itself around the world, sometimes dark and thick, sometimes thinner, but ever-present and menacing.
On the opposite side of the isle, Jeremy was grinning. “You see Sean?” he said warmly. “There was nothing to worry about. There never will be anything to worry about, ever again.”
He nodded, uncertain. The last thing he felt like doing was to look into those crazy eyes. He turned back to the glorious view outside, let himself sink into its calm and warmth.
There were things to worry about, of course. Loads of them. And Checkmate would doubtless have a lot more terrifying details about the flight and the risks they were running. But, for now, Sean decided to ignore that. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Whatever was to come, all he wanted now was to enjoy the forgotten comfort of the sun on his face.
Chapter 12
Strangers Welcome
“Do you think it’s safe?” Alice whispered.
They were lying in the grass, heads held low. Fifty yards ahead of them, stood a large clapboard house, like those she had sometimes seen in American films. It was painted green and looked clean and well-maintained. The only odd detail was the spray-painted message someone had scrawled across one of its walls. Strangers welcome, the big crooked letters read. They were meant to look friendly, but Alice couldn’t help thinking they were kind of creepy.
Adrian shook his head. “I don’t know.”
They were starving, and Alice felt like she couldn’t manage another single step without a sip of water. By the looks of this house, they might find something to eat and drink inside it.
“I can’t see anyone,” she said. “Shall we go?”
Adrian was biting his lip. He was hesitating, apparently lost in thought. She had a feeling she knew what he might be thinking about.
That other house. The one with the nice young man. He’d seemed friendly, at first. Then he had told Adrian he wanted to introduce him to his wife, and disappeared upstairs. When he came back down, he was carrying a dead woman. Alice remembered how the man held her lovingly, crazily, in his arms, talking about her as if she were still alive. A shiver ran down her spine.
She had spied the whole scene through a window. Adrian didn’t know, but she had. He wanted to protect her, she knew it, but the truth was she was protecting him by not revealing what she’d witnessed. She wasn’t the little girl Adrian thought she was.
But now, as they decided whether to try and knock at this new, unknown door, she understood his fears. But I need to eat, she thought. Are we going to run away from every house we see, and just die hungry?
“Ady,” she said. “Let’s try. If we see anything dangerous, we run away, okay?”
He wasn’t sure about it. But Adrian never is, she thought with a hint of irritation. “Okay,” he said, in the end.
They crept across the grass, looking around, expecting someone to appear at any second. But no one came.
When they reached the house, the children peaked through a window by the door. There was little furniture inside, and it looked a bit dusty, but not scary.
Adrian tilted his head sideways, eyebrows drawn close. “What’s that sound?”
Alice recognised it. She’d heard it before, in Bately. “It’s a generator,” she said. Then, she pressed her nose against the window-pane, hands cupped beside her eyes. “And that,” she said excitedly, “is a fridge!”
Adrian saw it too. “Okay. Okay. Let’s knock.”
They did, both of them silently hoping someone nice and kind and normal would open up.
“Umm,” muttered Adrian, after a while. “Shall I try again?” Alice nodded. Once more, no one came to the door. Frustrated, she grabbed hold of the handle and tried it. To her surprise, the door opened with a creak.
The children shared a glance. A silent nod. Let’s go.
* * *
A man lives here, Alice thought. Conversely, she knew they’d find no woman in this house. She could tell from the smell. Men’s rooms, their homes, always smelt strange. It wasn’t always a bad smell (although it usually was), but never as nice as when they shared a house with a woman.
The living room was a bit messy, but not terrible. It was wide, with a living area on their left, and an open kitchen to their right.
“Look at those,” Adrian said. There were stuffed animal heads all along the wall. Reindeer, wild boars, something that looked like a buffalo, and a whole load that she couldn’t name.
Alice turned away in disgust. “That’s horrible.”
Adrian kept looking at them. Maybe he thought they were cool, Alice told herself, and felt like smacking him. She left him there, staring at the sick animal heads, and walked over to the kitchen.
A few dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and she saw a couple of stained mugs abandoned against the wall, the tea inside them now cold. But she’d seen a lot worse.
“Do you think he killed them?” asked Ady, nose in the air, still gazing at those horrid things. “You know, the man that lives here?”
“I don’t know,” Alice said, coldly, as she opened the fridge. She was about to tell him off, ask him to stop staring like an idiot, but then she looked inside the fridge. And stopped. All she could do was stand there, incapable of understanding what it was she was looking at. Not wanting to understand.
We have to get out get out outoutout–
She turned, to warn Ady, maybe to scream, but before she could, someone else spoke.
“Well well well, who do we have here?”
Chapter 13
Cathy
Cathy sat on her knees, slowly trying to sort out the meagre stock of medicines that remained. The Warden’s men had left a few cases in front of the clinic’s door, likely salvaged from the Pack’s attempted loot. An unwelcome gift from these psychopaths, but one she could not turn down.
She lined up row after row of half-empty caps, boxes, bottles,
jotting down quantities on an old notepad. But her mind kept wandering, drifting back to the dreadful images of Father Claudio, the impotent rage in his eyes. It would be a blow, for Paul, when he came back.
If he does come back, Cathy – if.
She wondered whether, after all, it would be better for him and the children to stay away from Bately. Escape somewhere, and leave this little town to its own fate. But where? The north was bitterly cold and swarming with the vengeful ’wraiths of the Greater Pack. The west was exposed to the wrath of the ocean and its tsunamis. Europe, to the east and south, was barren and dangerous, the wasteland of Europa’s own impact. Of course, there were the tales, the unverified voices about the League, far to the south. But, she suspected, it was all wishful thinking. Why would the Mediter–
She’d allowed her mind to trail off again. How many paracetamol tablets had she tallied? Her eyes went from the medicine box she was holding, to her messy notes. Trying to remember how many she’d counted. Cathy sighed. Time to start over again.
A knock at the door interrupted her.
As she rose, she pictured Edward appearing on the stoop. He’d have large eyes filled with tears of regret, as he begged her to forgive him for having lied to her. Cheated on her (Hang on – you’re the mistress in this whole affair, remember?). As she reached for the door, she couldn’t stop a sad smile from spreading across her lips. Childish fantasies. Moore, now somewhere playing happy family with his wife, was very much in the past. A recent, painful past, yes, but past nonetheless. And if he wasn’t, she’d shove him there. There was so much to deal with, anyway.
Despite that, before the opening door revealed who was standing beyond it, a tiny sliver of girlish hope clung to that image. Maybe, just maybe–
It was Lucy. Moore’s wife.
She stood there, nervously eyeing up and down the street. When she noticed Cathy, she set her lips and frowned.
“We need to talk,” she said, and entered the clinic without waiting for Cathy to invite her in.
* * *
“Can I get you anything… I have a few teabags left, if–”
“No. Thank you.” Lucy had added the last two words as an afterthought. She was obviously not going to waste time with the pleasantries.
Cathy took a good look at her. She was tall, with a beautiful dark complexion. High cheek-bones, wide, confident eyes, and thick dark curls flowing past her shoulders like those of a Greek goddess. She seemed to be constantly in motion – a foot tapping, eyes observing, hands fixing her hair. Her body was a bundle of nervous energy. Cathy distractedly wondered how her and Moore could ever have ended up together.
You’re about to find out, she thought. She swallowed, preparing for a confrontation, bracing herself for the insults that were to come. I deserve it, after all. I’d do the same, if some bitch had slept with my–
“Cathy,” began Lucy. Her tone was cold, efficient. But perhaps not more than usual. “Edward–”
“Yes, I know,” Cathy began. She might as well start, face up to the whole mess. But before she could continue, Lucy asked, “What do you mean you know?” her eyebrow was raised in surprise. “Has Neeson been by already?”
“Wha–?” Then it dawned upon her. Lucy’s surprise was plain. This woman wasn’t here to discuss Edward. It looked like Moore hadn’t said anything to her (the coward). “No, I mean… yes, tell me,” Cathy concluded awkwardly.
Lucy observed her through confused eyes, like she was talking to a crazy person, but continued, “I was saying… Edward sent me. He feels we should talk. You, I, him, Neeson. You know… do something about these fanatics.”
So Edward was trying to set up a meeting. That was all it was. You mumbling idiot.
“Oh – yes, of course.”
“So, he sent me first. Neeson will come along with Edward, like he’s accompanying him on a follow-up visit for his leg. He can walk quite well with a stick now, but he’ll pretend he needs Neeson to help him. Didn’t want to raise any suspicion. You know – a secret gathering might not go down well with these people.” Lucy waved a thumb towards an invisible soldier in a black uniform.
“I understand. Okay.” Suddenly, they shared an uncomfortable silence, as Lucy had obviously run out of information to share, and Cathy was trying desperately to shift her mindset from the shouting match she’d predicted to this pragmatic exchange.
“Well,” Cathy said, as she turned to grab a couple of chairs. “Let’s at least get comfortable while we wait.” Thank god for that, she told herself. I don’t think I’d have managed to–
“Incidentally, Cathy,” Lucy added, behind her. “I know there’s something going on between you and my husband. But I’d say there are more pressing concerns at the moment. We can discuss that at a later time. Do you agree?”
Cathy swallowed. “Sure you don’t want any tea?”
* * *
“Anyone noticed the crate this morning?” Neeson asked.
They were sitting in the clinic’s storage room, around a small table. Cathy had made tea after all – mainly because she wanted to have a few seconds for herself, before sitting at the same table with Edward and Lucy. Moore had shared a long glance with her, his expression not too dissimilar from the one she’d pictured before opening the door to Lucy. But Cathy had looked away. He didn’t deserve her pity. Plus, his wife was right: there were more pressing concerns to focus on.
“The big black box they were dragging to the castle?” asked Lucy. They had seen it, all of them but Moore, who’d been in bed, resting his leg.
“I wonder what’s in there,” murmured Cathy. It had been a magnetic sight. Of course, she’d quickly forgotten about it, after what happened at the church. But now, she remembered how astonished she’d felt, upon noticing some of the Warden’s soldiers break down in tears, when they saw its contents.
“Whatever it is,” Edward said, “I suspect we’ll soon find out.” The others nodded, lost in thought. He turned to Neeson. “Do you want to share with Cathy what we were talking about earlier?” The former member of Bately’s Guard dipped his chin. “Yes. I think we can all agree that whoever these people are, they belong to the same group the man we shot in Ashford was part of.” Cathy remembered him, the one Paul had tried to kill, but failed. Neeson’s timely intervention saved his life. “He wore the same sort of uniform.”
“And,” Cathy said, “that symbol, the one on their banners – we saw it in that warehouse.”
Neeson nodded. “I’m not sure what this tells us, but, in Ashford, they’d made quite a show of killing the gang of ’wraiths they’d come across.” Cathy shuddered at the thought of the bodies on the crosses, the multitude of corpses in the warehouse. Again, Moore caught her eye. He too had seen them.
“This doesn’t tell us much,” Neeson continued, “other than that they appear to have a certain loathing for ’wraiths and…” he paused, lowering his gaze. “… of religious men, too.” The reference was clear, of course. Cathy’s abdomen tightened. But she didn’t want them to talk about Claudio, now. It would just hurt them, make them lose their focus. They’d lost the luxury of mourning their friends.
“You were a member of this town’s armed forces. Are there any left?” Lucy asked. Cathy remembered that Neeson himself had saved her.
“The Guard,” Neeson said, with a grim voice. “Only a handful. Young ones, mostly.”
Lucy leaned forward. “Okay, so, if we’re planning… what would you call it, a Resistance?” she asked the others. They looked away, somehow embarrassed by that grand sounding name. “Well? That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Lucy pressed them. Cathy and Moore nodded hesitantly. Neeson’s “Yes” was a bit more convincing. “Well, in that case,” she continued, “do you think we can count on these young Guard members to join us?”
Neeson shook his head. “Those men, they were doing those rounds, this morning, delivering food. I hear that when they came across someone in the Guard uniform, they began asking questions. Trying to re
cruit them. These boys are young and gullible, and I’m afraid they might fall for the lure of those shiny black uniforms.” Neeson sighed. “No, if we’re to fight back, I’m afraid we’re on our own.”
“The food,” said Moore pensively. “Why are they giving it out? Someone was saying they’re going to hand out more this evening.”
“Trying to get the townsfolk on their side. Win them over,” said Neeson.
“And I’d say it’s working. Not only the food, also the fear. We can make fun of their uniforms, but they do scare the shit out of me, if I’m honest,” Cathy said. Her eyes shot over to Lucy, “Gosh, I didn’t meant to swear, sorry.” Why the hell am I apologising to this woman? Why does she make me feel so uncomfortable?
(Maybe because you slept with her husband.)
“It’s okay,” said Lucy, surprised by the apology. “Go on.”
“What I mean is, one month ago… heck one week ago, if you’d told me that a bunch of maniacs was going to set fire to the church and… and…” she cleared her voice. “You know… if someone had told me that, I’d have been one hundred percent sure the people of Bately wouldn’t take it. They’d stand up and fight back. Root out the enemy, you know. But everyone was standing around, speechless. Most people hid in their houses, too afraid even to come and see what was happening.”
They sat in silence for a minute, considering Cathy’s words.
Neeson narrowed his eyes, scratching his chin. “I wouldn’t be too surprised if we’ll soon see our people walking around in those uniforms too.”
“I hope not,” Cathy said, suddenly full of anger. These people had marched in and destroyed everything they had worked so hard to build. Bately had been a small island of hope, amongst the rotting world around and beyond it. “So, what do we do?” she asked.
“Well,” said Neeson, a corner of his mouth curled in admiration at Cathy’s resolute tone. “This man, their leader… the Warden… they all seem to hang from his lips. I can see why. He’s done and spoken very little, but he has all the charisma of a true leader. And I’ve seen a few, in my career. Most of those I served under, in the army, had less than an ounce of this man’s appeal, believe me. Anyway… if he were out of the picture, I’m pretty sure their whole organisation would collapse.”
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