Sentinel: A post-apocalyptic thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 2)

by Robin Crumby

  Jones gave the instruction and allocated the remaining two targets to the men on the other R.I.B. He counted down from three and with a light pop, Zed noticed the figure in the distance crumple and fall. As he scanned the beach for the other targets, he saw all three were down.

  Jones grabbed the radio and whispered: “Now, now, now.”

  ***

  Jack heard the dull impact as the man below them sank to his knees, clutching his chest. There were similar thuds from left and right, so that when he looked over the edge, he noted all three men on the beach were down. They waited impatiently for the ‘go’ call from the Americans over the radio. Liz went first, helping the children down on to the beach and shepherding them back into the shadows, pressing a finger to her lips. Jack kept watch on them from above, anxiously glancing at his watch. Everything was taking too long. They might only have a few minutes before they were discovered.

  “Where are they?” whispered Riley in his ear, clutching the radio to her chest to muffle any unexpected noise.

  “There,” exclaimed Jack, spotting the two dark shapes on the water as a chink of moonlight reflected off a PVC paddle as it dipped silently in to the waves. Jack checked left and right down the beach, but satisfied himself they had the beach to themselves, for now.

  One by one, the figures clambered down until all the women and children stood huddled together, crouching behind a buttress, keeping away from the dead body and blood soaked pebbles in front of them. Riley had volunteered to stay behind.

  ***

  After a few seconds delay, Zed could see a rope thrown over the castle wall and the first of several figures lowered themselves over the lip and clambered awkwardly down on to the beach. In a couple of minutes there were eight people huddling against the wall.

  The first of the R.I.Bs coasted the rest of the way in and bumped against the shingle beach. One of Jones’s men stepped down in to the breaking waves and waded in, holding the bow of the R.I.B from grounding.

  The men in the boat met them halfway up the beach and waved them forward, one at a time. The first of the passengers, a young boy with his arm in a sling, ran down and was helped on board. It took Zed a couple of seconds to recognise each of them and they seemed surprised to see him. First Toby, then two of the other children were lifted onto the boat.

  When the first R.I.B could take no more they pushed off again and paddled back out to open water, allowing the second boat to make its approach. All told, they managed thirteen in the first trip and shuttled them the half kilometre or so over to the small beach to the south of Cliff End Battery on the island.

  They deposited their load and raced back towards the island. There had been no sign so far of Jack or Riley, but the children had said they were organising the extraction and would be the last to go across. That sounded like the Riley he knew.

  They took the same precautions with their second approach, scanning the beach for any new arrivals. They figured it would not be long before the guards were missed or failed to report in. They had no time to lose. They cut the engines again and paddled the last few metres. This time there was a small group already waiting for them on the beach and they made it in and out quicker. Jones’s men stood guard, scanning the beach for movement.

  By the time they returned for their third approach, there were already twenty-one people safely transferred to the island, but at best, they were only halfway there. Another twenty-four to go meant at least three more trips. Their window was quickly closing. It would take a miracle for them to avoid detection.

  ***

  It took what seemed like an age for the R.I.Bs to make it over to the island and back. By the time they were ready for the next group, Jack became aware of faint voices rounding the eastern edge of the castle coming to investigate why the men on the beach were not answering the radio calls. The discarded radio next to the dead man’s body had chirped from time to time with increasing urgency. Jack had considered answering the call, but thought better of it.

  Below them, the beam of a powerful hand-held torch arced across the water, searching out their man guarding the beach. Jack was out of time. Their luck had just run out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The boats were half-way back across the stretch of water towards Hurst spit when a powerful searchlight reached out across the water hunting for the R.I.Bs. Through his goggles, Zed was momentarily blinded, but as the concentrated beam moved past them, he could make out a flurry of activity as a dozen men rounded the corner of the castle wall from the eastern end of the spit racing round to the landing area. On top of the wall, he could see those inside hastily pulling up their rope ladder.

  “Game’s up,” said Jones. “I count a dozen armed men. There’s no way we can risk another approach without a firefight.”

  “But Jack and Riley are still in there. How are we going to get them out?”

  “I don’t know Zed. Is there any another way? Judging by the drone sweep, the whole of the front of the castle is swarming with people. Don’t suppose there are any tunnels or secret passages you want to tell me about?”

  “Afraid not. This is the only way in and out.”

  “I suggest we lie low for a bit and report in. Maybe try again later?”

  “We’re having trouble contacting HQ sir. Seems like someone is blocking our transmissions.”

  “Really? That’s pretty sophisticated for some half-arsed locals.”

  “But how come we can still contact Riley?” puzzled Zed. “Does that mean normal marine wavebands are still working?”

  “You’re right. That would make sense. It wouldn’t be secure, but we can still speak to them. Let’s give it a try.”

  ***

  Hand over hand, Jack hurriedly pulled up the rope, letting it fall at his feet. He ushered the group away from the edge again before leading the waiting group back inside. Sergeant Flynn was waiting for him at the doorway, hands on hips, shaking his head.

  “What the hell’s going on Jack?”

  “Nothing you need to know about Flynn. We’re doing what you should have done a long time ago, getting these civilians out of here.”

  “I’ve told you. You’re all perfectly safe. You’re getting everyone worked up about nothing,” said Flynn, addressing the group.

  “You don’t know Briggs and Copper. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  “Listen, I have thirty of my men here. I’ve got machine guns covering every entrance and approach. I’m telling you, if we all stay calm, nothing’s going to happen. In fact, by your actions, you’re putting lives at risk. I don’t want to provoke them.”

  “It’s a bit late for that don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there are three dead bodies on the beach for starters, maybe more.”

  “Goddamit, Jack. You’re putting us all in danger. If you’re not careful, you’re going to start a war.”

  “You had your chance, Flynn. Someone needed to act. We’re taking matters into our own hands. I’ve just taken twenty-one hostages off the table.”

  “Hostages? Don’t be so dramatic. This isn’t some siege, I’ve told you, these people are refugees. One of their leaders is a nun, for goodness sake.”

  “That’s what they want you to think, Flynn. You’re playing into their hands.”

  “Sergeant,” said a voice behind them, trying to catch his breath. “They’re demanding to speak with you again. They want to know why you’re saying one thing to their faces whilst others are escaping behind their backs.”

  “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid,” spat Flynn. “You’ve just made my job a damn sight harder.”

  ***

  Flynn and Jack stood on top of the Gun Tower looking down at the huge crowd of faces staring up at them from below. Their numbers had swollen again as more and more arrived from their route march down the shingle beach.

  Jack noticed an older man with wiry grey hair being helped up on to the back of the Toyota
truck, which they were using as an improvised speaking platform. He realised it must be the Professor, struggling to make out his features in the long shadows cast from the sodium floodlights positioned every fifty meters.

  The Professor shook hands with Sister Theodora and took his place next to Briggs and Copper, with Victor sat behind them, orchestrating events.

  “Sergeant, we demand to know why you insist on deceiving us.”

  The Sister’s voice, amplified by the loud hailer, echoed round the walls.

  “To our faces, you reassure us with platitudes about your good intentions. But behind our backs, you conspire to murder our people and disappear into the night. How can we trust anything you tell us now?”

  Her tone was measured and calm as if she was delivering a Sunday sermon to her congregation. The Sister’s words appeared to be as much for the crowd around her as they were for Flynn. Her delivery was such that she was rewarded with a few gasps and murmured agreement.

  “We will add that to the list of wrongs you’ve done us so far,” she continued, casting her free hand around her in a sweeping gesture.

  “What about the dozens of our people murdered by the man standing beside you?” shouted Jack above the hubbub.

  “This man?” said the Sister with feigned surprise, gesturing towards Copper. “The man you’re accusing of murder is a decorated police officer. He served this very community for nearly ten years. You’re trying to tell all of us that an officer of the law attacked you? I don’t know about anyone else, but I find that a little hard to swallow.”

  “It’s true. That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Why should we believe you now, when all you’ve told us so far are lies? Sergeant Flynn, why do you continue to let this man speak on your behalf? He is discredited and dishonoured and you should no longer harbour such a man.”

  All Jack could do was shake his head. He knew now that whatever he said in his defence would be twisted to their purpose.

  “As for all you others, you soldiers hiding behind sandbags, I see you scratching your heads and wondering who to believe. Well, let me tell you. The truth is that the people who have been occupying this castle till now are the real thieves and murderers. They were the ones who attacked the hospital in Lymington, and burned down the hotel my group was living in. There is no end to their depravity. This very night, they have killed three more of our men for daring to stand against them.”

  The Sister shook her head reproachfully, pausing to glance at Victor, who seemed to be enjoying his plan playing out.

  “Let’s not have any further bloodshed tonight. I appeal to you all to come to your senses and throw out these disabusers. Cast them out in to the night. Hand them over to face justice for what they’ve done, what they’ve all done. And please, let these poor hungry folk have food and shelter for the night, I beg you.”

  Jack almost laughed, it was so ridiculous, yet when he turned round Sergeant Flynn and Corporal Ballard were looking him up and down like their eyes had been opened.

  “You realise that’s all just a pack of lies? That man there pulling the strings,” he said pointing accusingly at Briggs, “is a career criminal. You realise he was serving a life sentence at Parkhurst Prison. And Copper, the so-called decorated officer, is no such thing. He may have been years ago, but not any more. He was the man who led the attack on Hurst that killed dozens of my men. He shot them dead in cold blood, executed them against that wall just down there,” his voice faltered remembering the atrocity that was committed right here during his absence.

  “And Sister Theodora is the same person who imprisoned members of my team and accused them of starting a fire they had nothing to do with.”

  “I don’t know about you Ballard,” said Flynn, shaking his head disapprovingly, “but I reckon they’re all as bad as each other. I don’t know who to believe any more.”

  “That’s right, Sarge. They’re all as bad as each other,” repeated his subordinate like an automaton.

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong,” countered Jack with growing animation, throwing his hands wide in supplication. “Flynn, please. You know me, we’ve been here for weeks together. My people are not thieves and murderers, come on. Come to your senses, man, and see this for what it is.”

  “I’m sorry Jack. Right now, it seems like you’re part of the problem rather than the solution.”

  “You’re joking,” sneered Jack, half-laughing, “We made this place what it is. Before we got here, this was just a museum and coffee shop. Look at it now, it’s a fortress. Don’t forget, I was the first to arrive here after the outbreak. I gave these people a home, a fresh start. Everything you see around here is down to me and my team. Look at it now.”

  “That’s right, look at it now. Hurst Castle is no longer under your control. I’m in charge.”

  Flynn nervously shuffled his weight from foot to foot. He seemed to relent for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He was way outside his comfort zone.

  “Listen Jack. Believe me, I’m trying to do the right thing here. My orders are to keep this place safe and secure. No one said anything about dispensing humanitarian aid to passing groups, but now they’re here, I don’t see how we can refuse to help them. The things they’re saying about you? I don’t know, I want to believe you, but it’s not my job to decide who’s right or wrong. Without Captain Armstrong’s orders, my hands are tied.”

  “I say we hand them all over and be done with it,” suggested Ballard coldly.

  “I always said you were an idiot,” spat Riley. Ballard towered over her slender frame, but said nothing, puffing out his chest and giving her a dead-eyed stare.

  “The least you could do for us is buy us some time,” said Jack. “Give us a chance to get the hell out of here.”

  Flynn seemed to consider that for a second, weighing up his options.

  “I could do that but your exit routes are blocked. You might be better off hiding this out.”

  “We’ll think of something,” said Jack confidently, but inside he was beginning to think that Flynn was right, they should surrender themselves before someone else got killed.

  ***

  “What are we going to do Jack?” asked Riley when the two of them were alone again. She was worried about him. He looked exhausted by the last few hours. He would never have agreed, but she secretly wished she had persuaded him to leave earlier. His pride and continued presence at Hurst could complicate matters, even make things worse.

  “If we could get the Chester to send its helicopter up here, we could get another dozen men out, but I doubt they’d risk it. It’s too dangerous,” said Jack. “Like Flynn said, this whole area is under British control. Armstrong won’t take kindly to American interference. Imagine what would happen if there was a friendly-fire incident or some locals got gunned down. It would be a PR disaster.”

  “I think it’s a bit late for public relations, don’t you? We’re on the verge of widespread civil unrest. You didn’t see what we saw at Porton Down and in the New Forest. The rebellion against the Allies is real. Briggs is trying to start a war, can’t you see?”

  Jack seemed distracted, his brain overloaded by events. His first thoughts were probably concern for his team and getting them out. Politics would have to wait for the morning.

  “Where are Jones and Zed now? Can we get them on the radio?”

  “Knowing Jones, he’ll be close, lying low somewhere out in the channel.”

  “Or else, they’re over at Cliff End Battery wrapped up in blankets having a cup of cocoa.”

  “I doubt it, they won’t rest till we’re all safe.”

  Jack seemed to brighten, straightening up as if emboldened by an idea.

  “Perhaps we can get Zed to pass on a message to the Chester. If they won’t risk a rescue, perhaps there’s another way.”

  “You’re not making sense. What do you have in mind?”

  “A diversion. If they can distract Briggs, we might just be able to escape. Pass me
that radio.”

  “Just be careful what you say. If I know Briggs, he’ll be listening to every word we say.”

  “Trust me,” said Jack with a thin smile. “I know just what to do.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “I’m not sure Peterson would go for it,” said Sergeant Jones, struggling to hear against the engine noise and rushing wind as they bashed back across the swell towards Hurst, the Needles rocks visible to their left. “It’s a bit heavy-handed, high risk of collateral damage, but it might work.”

  “We owe it to Riley and Jack to at least try. Look, if we leave them at the mercy of Briggs and Copper, we know what’s going to happen,” continued Zed, holding up the stump of his arm. “You know they’d murder those people in cold blood, just like they did at the Forest camp.”

  “But not with Flynn and his men there. Those soldiers are not going to stand by and let that happen.”

  “Listen, once they get those gates open, they may not be able to stop Briggs.”

  “They’d be crazy to open those gates. If they sit tight, they’re in no danger.”

  Jones turned around and addressed the radio man sheltering at the back of the boat. He was staying low, keeping out of the wind and spray. He had his hand clutched to the side of his head.

  “Corporal, any luck getting hold of the Chester?”

  “Not yet. We’re still being blocked by whatever jamming equipment they’re using. It’s killing our signal.”

  “Why don’t we try heading a bit further east and see if we can’t get out of its range?”

  “Good idea.”

  Jones tapped the helm on the shoulder and pointed down the Solent towards Southampton.

  The swell was larger out in the main channel, and they pitched violently between the waves, trying to put more distance between them and the men on the beach. Zed began to feel the tension in his shoulders relax a little. For the last few minutes, he had been gripping the strap next to him as they were thrown around. He was beginning to feel decidedly queasy, leaning his head over the side.