“I have a visitor. Someone has come to the apartment.” He opened the door and stood astonished before the person waiting for him on the other side.
“Hello Brother Deon,” said the familiar voice as the door opened.
44
Mathew awoke with a start as the noise of the bustling camp increased. Engines were revving and the travellers were cramming their lives into the fleet of trucks. Karl was shouting at the men to prepare their vehicles and the women and children were variously taking what they needed and throwing out what they didn’t.
“We’re leaving in 10,” said Karl to Mathew, ignoring Rei, who was already packed and prepared to leave.
“How far can we travel today?” Rei asked.
“About half of the way that yous want to go,” replied Karl. “We’re low on fuel and need some supplies, so we’ll stop in about 20 miles at a place I think that I can get some. Then we’ll make a camp at about sixteen hundred and drop yous off about ten the day after.” And with that he was gone to shout commands at the other men and organise the six large trucks into a convoy.
Mathew sat with Rei in the second vehicle; Philip was in the rear of the one behind it working on some notes. The almost familiar Berkshire countryside rolled past them as they made their slow way west along what Mathew supposed had once been the M4, although now it was a rough and uneven, albeit wide, road. Every now and then they passed abandoned trucks and cars along the side of the road. Some of them looked familiar to Mathew; many of them didn’t. The day was already warm and dry, which eased their route, but made the cab of the truck hot. Their driver was a man named Shane, who was both short and huge. His belly almost touched the truck’s steering mechanism and he sang, not quite to himself, as he drove, glancing up at his passengers as he came to the more bawdy parts of his song. He smiled often, and spoke little, and smelt of engine oil and grease.
“We’re stopping soon,” said Shane, although how he knew this Mathew and Rei couldn’t fathom, and with that he drove the truck to the left of the road and up a dirt track passed a small hand-painted sign that read, ‘Clifton Farm. Private. No unauthorised entry. Owner armed.’ Mathew looked at Rei, who smiled reassuringly back at him, disguising the fact that she was beginning to question this method of transport. Rei had a bad feeling about the farm but said nothing; she merely rested her hand on the handle of the small nail gun she still had concealed in the bag in her pocket.
Aaron ran a finger across the table in Deon’s room and looked disapprovingly at the clean line he left through the dust that dwelled there. “So this is your London hideaway, eh?”
“I’ve been using it since I left Unit. I’ve had a job in a hospital, helping people.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve been quite hard to trace, although I suppose that was deliberate.”
“I’ve needed to keep to myself. I’ve been featured on a broadcast by the police. Me and Nasreen, they think we had something to do with what happened, and a bomb that went off. Thing is, both events nearly killed me, but they think I done them.”
“Yes, you’ve certainly been drawing attention to yourself – for someone who’s trying to keep their head out of site. But you weren’t involved in the bombing were you?”
“No, I never had nothing to do with none of it, you know. None of it. But I’ve been trying to work out what I have to do and I have gotten my new role. I have a job that needs to be done here now.”
“What job, Deon?” asked Aaron.
Deon remained cautious. There was no reason to refuse to divulge to his former colleague what he was doing, but he knew that the fewer people who were aware of Mathew and the plan to move him out of the country, the easier the situation remained.
“So what’s the job?” Aaron repeated, seemingly slightly irate at Deon’s taciturn behaviour.
“It’s nothing really important. I’m just helping one of the patients at the hospital.”
“The Walden Centre?”
Shit! How did Aaron know where he’d been working? But then there was no reason to hide things from him. “Yeah, I work there and I’m helping one of the patients that I’ve met. He had an accident and needs some help adjusting.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, and as long as he could change the subject Aaron would have no reason to enquire further into the clinic. “How about you? Where have you been?”
“Well, Deon, I suppose I was fortunate not to be at Unit when the calamity struck, and since then I’ve been trying to work for Jesus and aid the truth. I have been in God’s service. There is much to be done, you know.” Deon nodded, yeah, there must be lots to be done.
“Of course, out of each situation, however bad, we can take something positive. I’m certain that we can rise like a phoenix, Deon.” Aaron looked up theatrically as if delivering a sermon. Deon wasn’t sure what a phoenix was, but he decided that this was not the time to ask. “The deaths in Unit have left us an open wound,” continued Aaron, “but also this has exposed our enemies.”
“What enemies? I don’t understand.”
“People like us, Deon, we have a job, a mission; more important than helping in hospitals or working with the poor. We are like an army. Remember how Caroline would say that we are the ground force, the troops of God, misunderstood, but ready to fight for our Saviour if we were called?” Deon listened intently, trying to concentrate on the words and not allow his mind to wonder. He felt his peripheral vision narrow and felt strangely that Aaron was the only thing he was truly aware of. He nodded regularly to show his interest, aware that the mist was rising. Aaron continued: “We need to take up arms against the people who perpetrated this attack on innocents. It is not that we take revenge, but that the evil people of the world should be eliminated to allow the good to rejoice in all that is pure and divine. I know that you’ve been tired and stressed, Deon. You’ve been waiting for a sign of what action you should take now. I expect you think that Mathew Lyal was that sign, don’t you?”
Deon was thrown. “I helped him. I felt I had to.” What did Aaron know about Mathew? Where was this all going?
“That’s right. You were drawn to Mathew Lyal because of his situation. But he is a conduit, Deon, a channel. God does not work through Mathew Lyal, he has used his unique qualities to attract you, and that has allowed us to find you and guide you to your real mission. Now because of Lyal there’s going to be a discussion on the ethics of cryopreservation. But Lyal himself, he’s not your real mission.”
Deon was confused. “He isn’t? What is my real mission?”
“Working with us, Deon, to re-establish the way to worship Jesus. This country is corrupt and overrun with false religions and idols, but if you come with us we can change that.” He took hold of Deon’s hand and tugged him lightly, stepping into the corridor and leading Deon away. “Come with us right now and we’ll help with the crusade for truth.” Why did that phrase sound so familiar, Deon thought. This was Aaron and he would need to accompany him, he obviously needed Deon’s help, and there was no reason not to go. But he had not finalised everything he was doing. Deon tried to think. What was it he had been doing? Something to do with Mathew, but his thoughts were confused and random. Whatever it was, it could be done later. He did what he always did when he was confused; he would leave a message for himself on his c-pac. As they waited outside the block where Deon had lived for the past few months he felt for the c-pac, and when Aaron was out of earshot trying to get a cab, he left a simple message for himself to retrieve later. “Aaron arrived, left with him. Still to finish job. Crusade for truth.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do this in such a clandestine manner, or why he’d said the final sentence, but he felt that it needed to be done.
“Do you have everything you need Brother Deon?”
“Yes. Wait, I need something.” Deon rushed back to the apartment. He needed something, but what was it? He looked at the box of relics in the corner, the bottles on the shelf, the clothes heaped into a pile. He thought he saw the grey cat in the corner
of the room, but he couldn’t be sure if it was there or not. Then the mist descended and swirled around him. It moved across his vision, leaving a single track free, down which Deon looked. And there, in his glory, the Archangel Michael came flying towards him on wings like glass. The angel alighted in front of him, and pointed to the hole in the wall. Deon grabbed the reliquary, and stuffed it into his backpack, then left not even bothering to shut the door. He wouldn't be returning. He went to look back at the angel, but a story of the perils of looking back stuck in his mind, and he ran to the street.
Seeing nothing of the mighty city that surrounded him he climbed onto the back seat of a three-wheeled cab and headed off with Aaron, all the time wondering who else was involved in this mission. He wondered if Michael had stayed to watch him leave.
45
The trucks drove slowly down the dirt track that led to the farm. The farm itself consisted of a series of barns and sheds in one area across a yard from an early nineteenth century farmhouse that had once been pretty but now just looked dilapidated, which gave the place the atmosphere of a ghost town. The convoy halted in line outside the largest barn and Karl jumped from the cab of the first vehicle and started examining the scene.
Rei opened her door and slid out before Mathew could say anything to her. He had a nasty feeling about the farm, and despite the decrepit nature of the buildings, it didn’t appear deserted.
“Where are you going?” he called after Rei.
“I need the lavatory,” she shouted back. “Who knows when we’ll stop next?”
Mathew turned to Shane, who was fumbling for some tools beneath the dashboard. “Are you sure there’s no one here?” he asked.
“We need fuel,” answered Shane, slapping his large stomach. He laughed, showing a cemetery if irregular teeth, and added, “I need fuel too. Ain’t no point stopping where there ain’t no people, ’cos we need fuel, and we need to stop where people have it,” and with that he slid gracelessly out of the cab and landed noisily by the side of the truck, breathing heavily as if he’d performed a major athletic feat.
Mathew followed reluctantly and descended from what he felt was the safety of the cab. He walked back to the rear truck and poked his head through the open window.
“Hi Phil. What you doing?”
“It’s Philip, and I’m working,” the journalist replied curtly. Mathew stood for a second by the truck before realising that Philip had no intention of getting out, or acknowledging him, then jumped clumsily back down and walked across to the pond that was positioned near to the first truck.
He stared at the dark water, covered with a film of green algae and traces of oil. He’d always liked water. He’d enjoyed swimming as a child and remembered holidays with his parents before his mum had died. They used to go to places like this. A farm in Wales, he remembered, had been an early summer holiday for him. He could recall how he was scared of the pigs and cows, which had seemed enormous to him, and he thought about the farmer’s son who had bravely belted the animals with a stick to guide them to their pens. He smiled at the memory: he had watched the boy, only a year older than him then, in awe of his ability to herd these great beasts. There had been a pond there too. A great dark mass of cool clear water that had beckoned him on a hot day in 1968 and he’d stripped to his pants and jumped into the water late one afternoon. He remembered having fun swimming as best he could in the shallow water, and splashing the ducks that watched him. Then his father had called him. He’d gathered his clothes and made his way back to the farm building, his father watching him with his dark humourless eyes.
“What the fuck have you been doing?”
“I was just playing in the water dad. It’s ok, my clothes are dry, I’ll dry myself and get dressed.”
“You think you’re going to walk through the house like that? Wet, undressed, and looking like Christ knows what.” The boy laughed, realising how he must look. “Funny is it?” his father went on. “What do you think people will think of you like that? What will they think of me? You don’t take any responsibility do you? That water’s filthy and you’re just going to get dried and get dressed.” With that his father grabbed him by the arm and drew him back to water. He threw the pile of clothes at his son.
“Put them on.”
“But I’m not dry yet.”
“PUT THEM ON! Now Matty.”
Mathew slowly got dressed; his wet body made the clothes stick to him.
“Now, get back in the water.”
“What?” the boy asked
“You heard me. Do it Matty, or it’ll be much worse than it already is.” He began to plead with his father, but knew it wouldn’t help. Sometimes he had to just accept his predicament.
He walked sheepishly into the water and stood in the knee-high pond.
“Now sit down,” his father commanded, and the boy knew better than to argue. And he sat there for almost half an hour, cold, bored and frustrated before his father relented and allowed him to climb out of the water, strip, and make his way to the bathroom, naked, to wash and change.
A shout from the other side of the barn brought Mathew out of his daydream. There were several voices yelling, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. He moved around the yard as quickly as his stiff leg could carry him, leaning heavily on the makeshift crutch he carried. Around the side of the building he saw Karl filling one of the trucks from a large tank in the far barn. To one side a man was running up the path and shouting, and although he couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying Mathew guessed he was the owner of the site, and he didn’t appear happy at the convoy taking his fuel.
“You, fuck off my farm, you hear. I don’t want your sort here.”
“We need the fuel if we’re goin’ anywhere,” replied Karl coolly as he continued to fill the truck.
“I don’t give a fuck about you, just fuck off my farm.”
Mathew moved a little closer and stood by Philip, who was looking on from one side. “What’s happening?” whispered Mathew.
“I don’t think we were invited here, and I get the feeling we’re not intending to pay for the gas,” he whispered.
“We don’t want to trouble you,” said Karl, handing the fuel nozzle to a large youth who had been driving the rear truck, “but you have to let us take this.”
“Like fuck I have to,” yelled the man, who was now within four metres of Karl and getting closer. “Now I’ll tell you this once more, get out of here now, or else.” He waited, but there was no change in the situation. “Now! Fuck off right now.” And as Mathew watched he realised that he was holding a sword. The weapon was about 30cm long, and the man began to wave it randomly in Karl’s direction. “Now!” he screamed. “Get outta here now.”
Karl moved forward towards him. “Don’t fuck about with us,” he said calmly. “Just let us get what we need.” The man moved the sword so that it was positioned in front of him, and held it in both hands, moving it up and down in line with the traveller’s body.
“Last chance,” said Karl.
“Just get out,” whispered the man between his teeth. Then there was a dull thud and he fell forward. The rear of his skull was wet with blood, and Mathew stood mesmerised, looking at Karl’s brother and the crowbar he held. Joseph’s face was splattered with blood from the farmer’s head. He calmly put the tool down and started to move the body to the side of the barn.
“Jesus,” said Mathew. “Phil, they’ve bloody killed him.”
“Yeah, this isn’t the time, Mathew. Get whatever you need and get back in the truck.”
“We’re not going with them, we need to do something,” said Mathew, feeling scared and outraged.
“Right. Any suggestions? Go to the police perhaps? We’ll get in the truck quickly and get away from these people as soon as we can. But we can’t stay here, we can’t help him,” he nodded to the corpse, “and we can’t tell anyone.”
“Get rid of that,” shouted Karl, pointing to the farmer’s body. “Is there an
yone else here?” No one seemed sure. “Right. John, finish filling this and then let’s go. Where’s Shane?”
“Right here, mate.” Shane’s familiar bulk waddled along from the farmhouse, clutching the assortment of things that he’d found in it.
“Is anyone in the house?” asked Karl.
“Not now,” replied Shane, and Mathew felt a shudder run through him as he thought about what that could mean. “But you need to see this.” Shane handed Karl a sheet of paper. Karl looked at it carefully, then stared at Mathew.
“What’s he got,” Mathew asked Philip quietly.
“Not sure, but I really don’t like this. It looks like a hard printout from a newsheet.”
Karl walked purposefully up to Mathew. Philip moved slightly between them and found himself pulled back from behind. As he watched Karl motioned to some of the others and Mathew too was grabbed. Karl walked up to him, his chiselled features looked hard and menacing.
“What’s your name friend?” Karl asked.
“I told you. I’m David Hopkins.”
“No you’re not. I’ve always known that wasn’t your name, but I didn’t really care. You three are travelling light, and secret, and that means that you’re runnin’ from somethin’. But I didn’t know what, and I didn’t really care. But now I do. This is you ain’t it.” He held up the sheet of paper. The headline read, ‘Modern Lazarus: Mathew Lyle returns from the dead,’ and beneath it was a portrait picture of taken at the Walden Centre.
“Now I don’t care about any crimes or trouble you have so long as you don’t bring them on me. But I do care that you, both of yous,” he glanced at Philip, have brought somethin’ dead into our community.” There was a murmur from the gathered onlookers who surrounded them.
The Relic Keeper Page 25
