End of the End

by Paul Kane, Simon Guerrier

  “Fort Vittoria,” Cole whispered. “Some victory.”

  “Poynter?” asked Robert, suddenly.

  Jack looked up and smiled. “Oh, yeah, the girl’s all right. A few burns, but she’ll live to fight another day.”

  Robert was glad about that. Then he thought about April, about Mary.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack, as if reading his mind. “I’ve been keeping in touch with home. I downplayed how serious things were, but you know how Mary is. If you feel strong enough to talk to them...”

  Robert said that he was, so Jack arranged for the radio to be brought in. “Hi, sweetheart,” was the first thing he said to his wife. “Told you I’d be in touch whenever I could. Love you.”

  “Oh, Robert, you have no idea,” she said, and he could tell she was crying. “I’ve... we’ve been worried about you.”

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”

  She laughed then. He spoke to her for a good half hour, then to April for the same amount of time. As usual, nothing much of importance was discussed, it was just lovely to chat to them, to hear their voices.

  “You be a good girl now for Mum, okay?” Robert finished. “And Daddy’ll be home as quickly as he can.”

  “’Kay, Dad. Love you,” said the girl, and he repeated it back to her.

  There was silence then, and he’d been expecting Mary to come back on. Instead, it was a man’s voice he heard next. No, not quite a man’s voice; it sounded too young for that. Sounded almost like a boy. “Hey.”

  “Mark?” asked Robert, not quite sure himself for a moment.

  “Dad. I need to talk to you. I’ve messed things up, here. Really messed things up. Mum said she’d give me the chance to explain, so... Well, I’ll try, but—”

  “Mark, what is it, son?”

  “I didn’t know, you see. Not until we heard from Bill. He was there when it went down, in Bartertown. But he was injured, so we didn’t... We didn’t know they were behind it and... Then there was Sophie and—”

  “Son, slow down. Slow down,” Robert said. Then he listened to what had happened, Mark’s voice becoming more and more childlike as he went on, younger even than when they’d first met. As if he was confessing to stealing apples from an orchard.

  When he’d done, and had apologised profusely, Robert simply sighed. Now he felt even older. Felt the weight on his shoulders of all this, because it was his fault. He’d been the one who left Mark in charge when he clearly hadn’t been ready.

  He was responsible, it was all on him. Whatever happened next.

  And whatever that was, Robert knew one thing for sure. As Jack might say: It would not be good.

  It would not be good at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE WATCHED HER from his window, from his room—where he was still being ‘held captive.’

  Clive Jr peeped out, just as he had done the night she arrived. When he’d climbed out through that same window, climbed down the side of the house, and had that very interesting conversation with the man in the robes.

  The man with the skull for a face.

  He had indeed held the answers to so many of Clive’s questions, and so many more the boy hadn’t even thought of. But that was just the start, the man had promised him. There was so much more to discuss.

  It was after the conversation had ended and he’d climbed back up to his room that she’d arrived. He could see the gate of New Hope from his bedroom, the only way through their walls—walls that his mother had put up to keep out invaders (a little late for his father... no, not his father... that still took some getting used to). Saw the commotion as people gathered and Tate had been called for. The gate had opened, and a visitor welcomed inside.

  She was beautiful, that girl. Older than him, much older, but that didn’t bother Clive. The girls his own age were immature, and some of them incredibly mean. This one, in the yellow dress, the girl with the freckles, was something else.

  He’d learned later on that her name was Sophie, that she’d been cast out from the castle at Nottingham and sought refuge—sanctuary—here. An outcast, an outsider. Just like he was, at heart. Nobody would tell him why she’d been thrown out, but that didn’t matter. They’d rejected her, and he felt sure that she’d feel the same as he did: cheated.

  As Clive watched her now in the town, pumping water into a bucket, wearing a shirt and trousers but looking no less appealing—bending over first one way, then turning and bending the other—he felt feelings he’d never really experienced before. A longing, a burning inside him.

  The man with a skull for a face had promised him he could have everything he’d ever wanted, could have the world. So maybe that included a queen to share it with? It would be a very lonely existence without someone by his side.

  Yes, that’s definitely what he wanted. As well as the rest... He’d return this girl to the castle, if that’s what she wanted. She’d sit by his side, and they’d rule together.

  But first there was something he had to do, the man had said. And Clive had agreed, even felt kind of okay about doing it.

  First, the man had said to him, first he must get rid of his adoptive parents.

  Kill them, and then in time...

  Kill the Reverend Tate.

  Somewhere near Lake Geneva

  HE HAD WELCOMED her back with open arms.

  And why wouldn’t he? She was his lover, after all. That was something Virgil hadn’t known, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. Well, the fool cared now. After trying it on when she stayed over at his country retreat, she’d given him something to think about. A few bruises, a split lip and a kick in the balls, to be precise.

  Though that was nothing compared to what Mark had done to Chillcott, Virgil’s man on the inside. He was still undergoing treatment, as far as she knew, the head Ranger having all but killed the man. Still, nothing he wouldn’t have done for the cause anyway, for the charismatic Virgil—though his ‘charms’ had been wasted on her. Talk about an ego! But he was useful, a tool. A pawn in their game.

  “Uschi,” Schaefer’d said, planting a hard kiss on her lips. Now this man, her man, he had power. Real power. Schaefer, the head of the Neo-Nazis in charge of the German armed forces, driven underground—in more ways than one. But, instead of dwindling as many might have imagined, they’d flourished in hiding, and were stronger than ever. Had their fingers in more pies even than before. And they’d spread out into other countries, like this one: Switzerland. It was the base of operations for someone they had been keen to work with, a doctor who was not averse to testing his home-grown concoctions on human test-subjects. His labs were down here, in this system of tunnels they had taken over for their own purposes. A very secret set of tunnels that also housed one of their most prized acquisitions. “It’s good to see you,” Schaefer told her in even tones, breaking off the embrace.

  “You also!” Uschi replied, with just a little too much fervour. She couldn’t help it. Because of her mission—the one he’d give her personally—she hadn’t seen him in several days. And she knew what that meant, where he’d take her once the formalities of the report were over and done with. What they’d do when they got there.

  “All went well I trust?”

  She nodded curtly. “Operation Flaming Arrow was a total success, on both fronts: Hood’s inner circle has been destabilised, and support has been raised for Virgil’s group. In fact, it worked better than we ever could have hoped.” Right from the start, with Chillcott infiltrating the Rangers, they’d had the upper hand. It hadn’t taken much effort to seduce Hood’s daughter-in-law, making it a simple case of co-ordinating when they struck: both the market town and at the castle. It was a risk, certainly, but from what they’d gleaned about Mark and his jealous behaviour, they could pretty much predict he’d not be thinking clearly. Even the tour to get Hood out of the way had been their idea, planted by people they had on the inside. They knew that with their figurehead elsewhere, Mark would be left to hold the fort. It had only
taken a nudge to get the young man to fall to pieces. “More successful, it would seem, than the good Doctor’s pets and our other... associates.” She said the word like it was venom she’d just sucked from a snakebite and was trying to spit out. The Morningstars were no friends of hers. But, again, they were useful at the moment. More pawns.

  “On the contrary, I think it proved without a shadow of a doubt that those... pets, as you call them, are more than combat ready. Proved it to that fucking cult, at any rate.”

  “But Hood destroyed them, didn’t he?”

  Schaefer waved a hand. “Casualties of war. There are more, as you well know, where they came from.”

  “A shame they did not take out Hood first, though,” Uschi commented. “Why was that again? How were there any survivors left?”

  “My sweet, you know the answer to that question as well as I do.”

  She did, though she didn’t agree with it. Schaefer had his own particular axe to grind with Hood, wanted to make him suffer rather than just putting him down like the dog he was. It was a long-term plan that could backfire on them spectacularly, if he wasn’t careful. Not that she would ever say this to his face. He would probably have her executed.

  So, having reported back, she waited as Schaefer dismissed the armed men surrounding them. Then the pair walked together down the long, man-made tunnels. Uschi was trembling with anticipation, both anxious to reach the place and wanting to stave off the moment so she could relish the excitement.

  She remembered the first time Schaefer had taken her there, not that long into their relationship. Had he known how much of an aphrodisiac it would be to her, that thing? Maybe, maybe not. But he was certainly aware of it now.

  As they rounded the final corner, making their way along the circular platform encircling it—high up, almost at its nose—their metallic footsteps echoing throughout this cavernous space, she couldn’t help smirking.

  Uschi rushed to the rail, gripping it with both hands. Taking in the sight of the massive pointed cone in front of her, she let out a gasp. Another moan came, though, when she felt Schaefer behind her, hands reaching around to undo her camouflage jacket; then her belt; then the buttons of her cargos, which fell to the ground.

  That was power. She was looking at it right now. Just the threat of it, let alone its use. The ultimate flaming arrow! She shivered with delight, which urged Schaefer on.

  And, as he took her by those rails, she continued to stare at the huge rocket in front of her, knowing its potential.

  Thinking about what would happen if—when—it was launched.

  EPILOGUE

  “...WELL?”

  “Well what?” asked the storyteller.

  Mouse was leaning so far forward on the stump, he was in danger of losing his balance and toppling off. “What happened after that?”

  The storyteller pointed upwards. “The sky grows dark—or even darker, I should say. It will be night-time soon and I don’t have to tell you what dangers await if you linger in these parts too long.”

  “But—”

  The storyteller held up a finger, though it didn’t stop Mouse from continuing.

  “But that can’t be the end of the story!”

  “The end?” said the old man, smiling and revealing those rotten teeth. “Oh, my young friend, stories never end. They have happened before, many times—and will happen again.”

  “What?” Mouse was confused. “What do you mean?”

  The old man said nothing.

  “Look, I just want to know what happens next!”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you return this time tomorrow, I promise I will continue the story. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Mouse thought about it for a moment or so. It seemed fair enough, and the sky was getting quite dark. He should probably find somewhere to sleep... to hide overnight. “Okay,” he said. “If you promise.”

  “I just did, did I not?”

  Mouse got up off the stump. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  The old man nodded.

  Mouse was turning to leave, when he thought suddenly. Something he couldn’t wait for, something he had to know. “The... rocket thing, as you called it; was that what caused—” He began, but realised there was nobody around. The old man, the storyteller, was gone—as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared in the first place.

  Mouse looked about him, but all he could see were the blackened stumps.

  There was no time to think about that now; Mouse had to get out of there. Find cover before night really did fall.

  But he would return tomorrow, because he wanted to know. Whether or not the old man would keep his promise, Mouse couldn’t be certain. Trust was a hard thing to come by these days.

  Yet as he wandered off to lose himself, to get to safety, he began to hope. And that seemed strange, after its absence all these years.

  In the end, though, he realised—as well as the story—that was something else the storyteller had given him.

  Hope, where once there had been none.

  And trust, in a world without faith.

  BONUS SHORT STORY

  A DREAM OF SHERWOOD

  IT STARTED, AS most dreams of his beloved Sherwood inevitably did, with the stag.

  Older now than it once was, it still had power; still had strength. It was not to be underestimated. And it moved through the undergrowth like it owned this place... which, really, it did. In fact, it was more accurate to call the stag its caretaker, though as much as the creature looked after the forest, Sherwood also looked after it... after him. For he had worked out long ago what the stag was. It was a representation of him, the Hooded Man—in turn a symbol of something else. Of justice, of truth and right, in a land that had none.

  Or hadn’t, until he’d come along; now it was a very different story. He, the stag, could hold his head high, knowing he’d done all he could for the people. That he’d brought them safety and security, of a kind. Although in these perilous times you could never be sure that anything would last. Indeed, there was a battle coming that would change everything again. In spite of all he’d been through, there was still more to come.

  That’s what the forest had told him.

  Today the stag he’d become was standing in a clearing, flanked by foliage and trees. It was warm there, basking in a ray of sunlight. He closed his eyes, turned his face towards it: illuminated. Hopefully soon in more ways than one.

  He felt—when he opened his eyes again—the heat shifting, coming from another source. Something that whipped over his head: an arrow, with a flaming tip, making its way through the forest. A guide of sorts, he realised, and as such he was compelled to follow it. Chase it, as fast as his ageing legs would carry him.

  As he did so, he risked a look left and right, and saw visions: on one side was a big black snake curling itself around a golden throne, while a brutish bull-creature stood guard next to it like the mythical Minotaur. The snake showed its crooked and yellow fangs as it began hissing at him—the symbol of all evil since the Garden of Eden—and then shifted position to reveal a second snake. It looked exactly like the first one, only smaller; its child, perhaps? It hissed at the stag like its father. Somehow he had the feeling that, once fully grown, the smaller serpent would be infinitely more dangerous than the one who had sired it.

  On the other side was a bear, which immediately reared up and stood on its back legs. Its fur was red, as if dyed, and its growl was loud when it finally came. As he continued to watch, the animal split into two, producing a perfect duplicate in every respect apart from one: it had a curved blade in place of one of its front paws. The new bear also growled, as its twin disappeared in the trees, and then began slashing with the blade, cutting through the air. Suddenly, the Minotaur was there, too, and the pair were fighting. Locked in combat, struggling against each other, the Minotaur holding the bear’s front legs as it gored its opponent with its own horns, staining the bear’s fur with blood.

  Though he wa
s still in motion, the stag somehow saw all of this and more. The forest was trying to tell him things, and he’d learned long ago to take notice. As well as healing him when he was wounded, it also showed him the past, the present... and the future. Sometimes it was hard to work out which was which, especially as time seemed to curl around in circles, some events apparently destined to happen again and again.

  He looked back across at the throne and saw that the first snake was now gone, replaced by its successor—and he’d been right. As it grew, it spat its venom at the stag’s feet. The liquid hissed as it ate into the floor.

  By the time he cast his gaze back to the fight, it was all over and the bear was standing, victorious, over the body of the Minotaur. But its celebrations didn’t last very long before it was struck in the back of the head by something metallic which the stag couldn’t quite make out. Something that went on ahead, racing in front of the arrow and disappearing out of sight. He felt sure he hadn’t seen the last of it, though.

  On and on, and when the stag looked to the side once more there were bones in the woodland. The skeletal remains of something huge, which looked at first glance to be a bird—for it had wings—but which he saw now was dragon. On the opposite side, the stag saw a large cauldron that had been upturned, its contents spilling out onto the ground. More bones, human remains this time that had been boiling away inside the pot. Cards were scattered around the grass there as well, the kind used by fortune tellers to try and predict the future. Their owner wasn’t far behind, also skeletal but still moving, a giant spider which climbed over the cauldron and began to gather up the cards. It kicked one across, close enough for the stag to bend and see. Elaborately illustrated, the card portrayed a colourfully-dressed man dancing along a path, with a bindle over his shoulder. The man was casually dancing along towards the edge of a cliff, unaware of the mortal danger.