Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1)

by Michael James Lynch

  First published in Great Britain 2018

  Published by Solodog Publishing

  Copyright © Michael Lynch 2018

  Michael Lynch has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the soul author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-9999150-0-1 - paperback ISBN 978-1-9999150-1-8 - Epub

  ISBN 978-1-9999150-2-5 - Mobi

  For more details visit MichaelJamesLynch.com

  Close your eyes, my darling,

  close your little eyes.

  Say goodnight, and sleep tight,

  close your eyes, ‘til tomorrow.

  And if you dream, my darling,

  say you’ll dream of me.

  And all the things that we can do,

  tomorrow, you and me.

  For James and Alanna

  This book is for you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  He had once been an angry young man. Then they strung him up in the arches of The Cathedral and broke his body. Thirty-three years later, at two in the morning, Robb was lying awake, praying for his son. The curfew bell had struck hours ago and he knew the gunnermen were always looking for an easy arrest. Robb pulled back the blankets and limped towards the window, his breath frosting in the cold.

  The house was in darkness so he peeled back the curtains and searched the street. It was a tomb. Ignoring the flashes of pain in his legs, he knelt before the window and waited. Eventually Robb saw what he had been hoping for. A silhouette drifting down the road. Coming home.

  For a moment he allowed his anxiety to fade, until the figure outside suddenly stopped and sank back into the shadows. Robb held his breath, turning an ear to the window. The sound of an engine was quiet, but undeniable.

  He watched the patrol car cruise into view at the top of the road where it waited for a few moments before cutting its engine and lights. Using the slope of the hill, it ghosted forwards, barely a whisper escaping the tyres.

  Out on the street, Robb’s son sprang forwards and crossed the road like a startled hare. Then he was off through the gardens while the patrol car roared into life. A gunnerman jumped out of the passenger seat to pursue on foot while the car sped to the end of the road and then out of sight.

  Robb was at the bedroom door in an instant, grabbing his clothes.

  “Wait.”

  He pulled on his trousers and fumbled beneath the bed for his shoes.

  “Robb. Please.” It was Eliza. For the first time in memory he heard emotion in her voice. “The curfew. They’d lock you up.”

  “I can’t just leave him,” he said.

  When he turned, Robb saw the fear on his own face mirrored in his wife’s.

  “They wouldn’t let you out. Not again.”

  “I can’t leave him,” he hissed.

  “You have another son.”

  Robb’s shoulders sank because he knew she was right. With a hopeless sigh he suppressed the feelings of anger and fear that constantly simmered beneath his skin.

  Hours later, the front door clicked open and footsteps crept softly upstairs. Eliza was dozing quietly, but Robb hadn’t slept. Not for a moment. He looked at the clock and saw it was nearly five. Two hours since he’d heard the patrol car make its last circuit.

  He waited for the house to settle before crossing the hallway to Ryan’s room. His son was fully clothed lying on top of the covers. Unhurt. Unaware. Robb closed his eyes and felt the worry fade, to be replaced by a deep resentment. He returned to his room and perched at the foot of the bed. There was no chance of finding sleep now so he slipped out of his bed clothes and dressed for work.

  “Is he back?” Eliza whispered.

  “Yes.” Despite the darkness, he instinctively turned away and covered the scars on his chest. “Go back to sleep,” he breathed.

  She rolled over without a word and Robb dressed in the dark. Downstairs, he lit one ring on the hob and flexed his fingers over the flickering blue flames. Then he ran a cloudy glass of water from the sink and listened to the world sleeping around him.

  It was earlier than usual when Robb stepped outside and the sunlight was still struggling against the gloom. He walked for the train beneath a pale blue sky, while the wind bit around his face and neck. His legs were stiff and ached with every step, but Robb knew that the only answer was to move through the pain. By the time he reached the station, his strides had evened out and he was almost able to ignore the grinding at his knees.

  He passed through the gunnerman checkpoint, finding as usual that the guard was dozing. Robb didn’t wake him. If he was stopped later, he knew he had clearance to ride the trains to the city.

  An enormous banner of Talis hung above the station entrance and the Premier’s disapproving glare followed Robb down the platform. Head down, he passed over the series of mosaics that were sunk into the stone floor. Each one showed a profile of the Premier whose angular features cut a sharp silhouette against the grey concrete. Robb scuffed his feet over them all, scratching stones into Talis’s face.

  He took a seat on one of the metal benches and waited. Flecks of rain were illuminated in the dirty yellow lights hanging from the gantries. Somewhere in the distance Robb heard the hush and shunt of an approaching train and as he rose, both knees gave an angry crack of pain. The old train clattered to a stop and threw open its doors allowing Robb to step into the empty carriage and take his usual seat. The doors slid together with a hiss and the train jolted forwards, carrying him back to the factories. Back to Karasard.

  Ryan woke after just three hours sleep. He took off his mud-stained clothes from the night before and dressed quickly. His whole body was covered
in bumps and bruises after his escape from the gunnermen.

  He’d been talking with Brynne until way past curfew. Just before he left, the old man passed over one of the political pamphlets he handed out around the city.

  You know what will happen if you’re caught with this?

  Ryan had nodded and promised to keep it safe.

  Back in his bedroom he examined the puncture marks on the heel of each hand. He had scaled the wall into someone’s back garden, only to find it topped with razor wire. The narrow cuts were quite deep, but they had scabbed over in the night.

  Reaching under his pillow, he found the pamphlet that Brynne had given him and flicked to the first polemic.

  We must give everything to the cause. We must forsake family and friends as they will be used against us. The revolutionary is a doomed man.

  Ryan felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Revolutionary. He turned to the mirror straight-backed and raised his chin. Seventeen-years-old and already fighting the Government. Already making a difference.

  Ryan placed the pamphlet back beneath his pillow. He’d find a better hiding place later, but right now he needed to go downstairs before his mum left for work. She was staring vacantly at the hall mirror, running a comb through her hair. Ryan watched her right hand moving the brush, just three fingers and a thumb gripped around the handle. The skin around the knuckle of her fourth finger was twisted into an ugly stump.

  “You were back late,” she said quietly, taking him by surprise.

  Ryan felt guilty when he lied to his mum, so as usual he told her a half-truth. “I was at a friend’s. I lost track of time.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his, but she didn’t push any further. Maybe she didn’t want to hear him lie. Ryan noticed that her handbag was on the hall table and he waited nearby for a chance to take some money.

  His mum finished brushing her hair and turned towards the kitchen. Then, as an afterthought, she unfastened the zip on her handbag and left it unattended, almost like she was giving him permission. The idea made him feel even more ashamed that he already did.

  We must forsake family and friends as they will be used against us.

  He dipped into her purse and took a handful of bronze and coppers from within. It wasn’t like he was spending it on himself. Not really. Brynne had arranged for him to get a counterfeit ID. He’d been begging and stealing the money for weeks and today he was finally meeting the forger. If it could get him past the checkpoints, it would be worth all the dishonesty.

  Behind him, his younger brother John was halfway down the stairs, still in his pyjamas. John didn’t say anything, just stood with a hand on either bannister, swinging his feet back and forth.

  Ryan looked at his watch and then swore quietly.

  “What’s up?”

  As usual John looked at Ryan with eyes of total devotion. It was an exhausting standard to maintain and the main reason why Ryan had begun to distance himself from his younger brother. It was easier than trying to explain the life that he led now. The way that Straybeck really was.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Except I’m late.” Ryan grabbed his coat from the hook in the hallway and then returned to the kitchen to grab the last chunk of bread. In the fridge he found a wedge of cheese and took that too.

  “Bye Mum,” he said quietly, but there was no answer.

  “Where are you going?” John said.

  “Out. I’m meeting someone.”

  “But it’s still early. Who’s going to walk me to school?”

  “You’re twelve, I think you’ll be alright.” Ryan opened the door and a blast of cold air blew through the house. “Just stick to the main roads.” As an afterthought he broke the lump of cheese in half and tore a chunk from the bread. “Here. Breakfast.”

  John grabbed them and hungrily popped the cheese into his mouth. “Dad will be angry if you don’t take me.”

  ”Well he knows where I am,” Ryan said, slamming the front door as he left.

  For the past two days he’d gone through the same checkpoint, so today he took a different route. Brynne said that the gunnermen tracked ID scans, so he tried to keep them guessing.

  He felt bad for not walking John to school, but it couldn’t be helped. He was already late for the meeting with the forger. He ran as far as the stone pillars at the park entrance and then walked along the muddy path trying to catch his breath.

  The perimeter of trees thinned out and the path opened onto a huge playing field. Ryan crossed the open grass and traipsed up the hill at the far side. As he reached the playground, he saw the bench where he was supposed to meet the forger. It was empty. Ryan checked his watch again. He wasn’t more than a couple of minutes late so he sat down on the cracked wooden slats and waited while grey clouds coasted through the sky.

  From his vantage point at the top of the hill, Ryan had an unobstructed view of the park in three directions. In front and behind there was open parkland. To the left there was a steep slope followed by a thick ribbon of water. It was the River Stray, or at least an offshoot of the main thing that began all the way up in the mountains of Insel.

  Beyond the river, a high wall marked the boundary to the sprawling Worker District. Above the wall, dirty chimneys stabbed skyward forming a bleak horizon over Straybeck. It was only to his right that Ryan’s view was obstructed by a wide strip of woodland, old as Straybeck itself. As Ryan glanced at the tangled trees his attention was drawn to a movement beneath the bows of an oak tree. He squinted at the swaying branches where there was the unmistakeable shape of a man. A stab of nerves twisted his stomach and he waited, wide-eyed and unsure what to do. The figure in the trees took a step forwards and gave an urgent twitch of his hand, beckoning Ryan closer.

  They were supposed to meet on the bench, so either he’d decided to wait out of sight or it was a gunnerman trap. Seconds passed while Ryan considered running. The figure stepped fully into the daylight revealing a skinny guy with a pale face. He gave another urgent wave to Ryan before jumping back into the shadows.

  Ryan pushed himself from the bench and jogged towards the trees. As he came closer, the man moved deeper into the tangle of trees.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  “Depends,” Ryan answered. “Who are you?”

  “Premier Talis.” The skinny guy gave a withering look. “I don’t have time for this. Just tell me your name.”

  “Ryan Calloway.”

  His eyes went wide. “Just like that,” he almost shouted. “Ryan Calloway. As easy as that.” He turned and stalked away through the trees.

  “Wait,” Ryan called. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m out,” the guy said. “Tell your man I don’t deal with amateurs.”

  “But I’ve got your money,” Ryan called desperately. “Ask Brynne.”

  The guy span round so fast, Ryan thought he was going to attack him.

  “Will you shut your mouth,” he hissed. He glanced over his shoulder as though the forest might be listening.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan said. “I’ve not done this before.”

  “No kidding. Word of advice, if you live long enough to do it again…which I very much doubt…try to be just a little more cautious.”

  “Okay, okay. But what do I do now? Aren’t you the guy that Bry…that he sent me to meet?” The forger didn’t answer, but he didn’t walk away either, so Ryan pressed on. “Have you got the ID?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” he hissed, clearly trying hard to hold his temper. “How do you think it would look if I was searched and they found someone else’s ID card? But I can show you where it is.” Suddenly, he froze.

  “What?” Ryan whispered.

  The man silenced him with a finger in the air, cocking his head to listen more intently. That was when Ryan heard it too. Footsteps nearby and the choked panting of a dog.

  “Get away from me,” the man growled, running deeper into the trees. “You’ve been followed.”

  Ryan said n
othing. He was out of his depth and he knew it. He tried to make off in the other direction, but after three steps a voice called out, sharp as a punch.

  “After ‘em lad.”

  He heard the crash of broken branches and then a huge black dog burst into view, muzzle drawn back in a snarl. It moved through the undergrowth with long, high bounds, sighting for its prey. Ryan dropped to the floor, pressing his face into dead leaves.

  If he’d had time, he would have warned the forger. Called out to him and told him to stay quiet. But there hadn’t been time and now Ryan heard a growl of excitement from the dog as it locked onto the retreating figure. It was followed by heavy boots running past Ryan’s hiding place, crunching over fallen branches.

  “Stand still. Hands in the air.” It was the same deep, angry voice.

  Ryan didn’t wait to see if the forger had stopped. He jumped to his feet and sprinted through the trees in the opposite direction. A shout went up, and he saw another gunnerman closing in. Ryan dipped his head and charged down the steep slope and towards the river. He lost his footing and slipped down the sodden grass on his backside. Scrambling up, he risked a glance over one shoulder only to see two gunnermen in pursuit with a dog. The River Stray was wide and fast flowing, swollen by rain. It frothed and churned beneath the lip of the embankment, leaving a barrier at least eight feet across.

  “Stop,” one of the gunnermen shouted.

  Ryan backed up a few paces.

  “Stand still,” the command came, louder this time.

  Ryan charged forwards and leapt high in the air, tensed for the crack of gunfire. He landed with one foot on the muddy slope and his back leg dragging in the icy water. He was up in an instant, ripping out handfuls of grass as he hauled himself clear of the river and onto the opposite side.

  The wall separating the city from the park was high, but built with old, mismatched lumps of stone. Ryan had climbed it when he was younger, and he ran at it now, scaling halfway in just a few seconds.

  The first gunshot echoed through the air, splitting a chunk of stone loose from the wall and showering Ryan’s face in sharp grit. As the volley resonated across the park, he scrambled onwards, dragging his legs above the lip of the wall and landing heavily on the paving stones. He was trembling with fear and adrenalin but forced himself to jump up and sprint for the factory walls ahead. Hopefully he could lose the gunnermen in the narrow streets of the Worker District. If not, he’d be in The Cathedral by nightfall.