by H M Sealey
Missy looks back towards the house. It’s big, and quite beautiful in places, I think it’s a combination of styles, maybe it’s been built and rebuilt over the centuries.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Missy says with a slight sneer. “It looks so innocent outside. Pity it’s full of slaves.”
“I can’t believe anywhere allows slave trading so openly.”
“I don’t know. It’s no worse that the children snatched from their Christian parents and sold to whatever families NuTru finds worthy.” She touches her neck gently. “They don’t brand the children, but social workers have been taking children from families they don’t like for generations. They always pretend it’s for child welfare. At least here they don’t pretend it’s for anything but profit.”
Missy gives a sniff. “I saw it happen. I trained as a social Worker, but I walked out when I saw how many documents my colleagues were prepared to falsify just to feed their belief that Christians were monstrous homophobes and incapable of raising children. After that, I always promised I’d fight for families and not for the state.”
I look back to the house. “I need to go back.”
“Why?”
“Because….it’s a long story.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
“What will you do?”
“I have to find someone. An old man. I think he’s here.”
I breathe in a mouthful of fresh air. Travelling in a bodybag, and then being confined to a cellar with only Aunt Sally’s cigarette smoke has made me feel slightly sick. I close my eyes and enjoy the evening breeze on my face.
That’s when I hear it. The sound of voices and vehicles. A lot of vehicles and hard vices raised in either anger or excitement. They sound wild, inhuman, almost like animals.
Beside me Missy’s eyes are wide-open with terror. I’ve never seen anyone’s face change quite so suddenly. It’s like watching a mouse sense a cat.
“Wolves.” She says.
~
~ Thirty ~
Sylvester
“Zeb! Where the hell’s that man! We’ve got problems!”
Sylvester rattled down the stairs, pushing the terrible image of his own grandson dying in Hajjah’s arms out of his head and focusing on what was happening now.
There was an army at the gates, the sort of army few people ever actually saw at close quarters since most sane people ran. That was government advice, to run.
Wolves never attacked in the Border. They only attacked Old Britain. That was common knowledge. They were Muslim warriors, the sort who had conquered the whole of Europe. What they were and why they came was an open secret. But they never bothered the Border other than to sell their captives to the traders who operated there, of whom Zeb was only one of many.
Sylvester reached the courtyard at the same moment Nicky emerged from the door that led to the cellars, supporting a bloodied Zeb. His eyes were swathed in bandages but that did not stop the blood seeping through which made him look even more grotesque.
Sylvester stopped and stared at his son. “What happened?”
Nicky stroked her husband’s arm. “It doesn’t matter. I patched him up and gave him painkillers. I was just taking him to bed.”
“Has the doctor seen him?”
“Doctor Lewis took the night off. She decided she’s had enough of medical emergencies for one day. She said anyone else could bleed to death for all she cared.”
Then Nicky looked past Sylvester towards the gates.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Are they….are they Wolves?”
“I think so.”
“Wolves don’t come here.”
“You mean they haven’t so far.”
Sylvester stared grimly across what would once, many years ago, have been rolling lawns. In his father’s day Jourdete House had been a magnificent property. The bomb shelter had been built during the 1960’s and had been adapted into cellars and even underground studios in the later years of the twentieth century. Sylvester always thought it was a shame a structure built by his own great-grandfather to save the lives of his family should become something with such a shameful purpose.
~
Josh
“River!”
I run back into the cellars as best I can, trying to support myself against the wall so I don’t tumble down the stairs. “River! Where are you?”
“Here!”
I follow the sound of her voice and find a small, clinical room that smells strongly of disinfectant with an unlocked door. Judging by the equipment in here, I think it might be a doctor’s surgery. River is sitting calmly on the couch, her unrestrained hands on her lap.
“Hey Josh.”
“You’re not locked in? Or tied up?”
“Aunt Sally knows I’m not going anywhere. I helped her patch up Zeb, that’s the slave trader. That girl really did a job on his eyes, they were gross, all gooey. Aunt Sally was pretty worried I think, though I don’t know why. Blinding’s too good for someone who trades in human misery.”
“And she just left you here?”
“Just until she’s settled him. It’s good for us Josh, it means he won’t get suspicious about us suddenly appearing.”
She gestures to my hands. “Want me to cut those things?” No, I really love falling on my face every five minutes.
I nod and watch as she locates a pair of surgical scissors from a drawer and snips the zip-tie from my wrists. I rub my wrists where the plastic has cut the skin.
“I think there might be a problem.” I tell her.
~
Elsie
From the window I have a clear view across the gardens and to the roads beyond. There’s quite an army gathering at the gates, I can count a dozen trucks, maybe more, all flying torn black flags with a white wolf and Arabic letters daubed on in paint. The men are in black, balaclavas hiding everything but the eyes. The light spilling out from the cars and torches illuminates the night like fireworks without the sparkle. I’ve never seen Wolves before, not properly. I’ve only ever seen the devastation they leave in their wake.
I jump at some sort of explosion and Hajjah wraps her arms around me gently.
“Easy Elsie. Sylvester said to stay here.”
Asim pushes past me and stares out of the window too, his eyes scanning the scene before us. Baraq, now sitting up in bed but clearly in pain, tries to stand.
“Don’t.” I tell him, coming to his side. “You lost lots of blood. You need to rest.”
He winces and lets me settle him back down on the pillows. A prickle of tension causes the hairs on the back of my neck to rise, it feels like I’m waiting for something awful to happen. Why are the Wolves here? What do they want?
~
Josh
River and I leave the cellars and emerge into the grounds. From here I can see an old man, upright and steady, heading along the drive towards the gates. On the other side of the railings there’s an army of men in black, all armed. Occasionally I hear gunshots as they discharge their weapons into the air. The sounds are so hard, so explosive and aggressive they make my heart race. These warriors are everything men are taught not to be, my revulsion towards them is as much psychological conditioning as genuine terror.
“Missy?”
I recognise Missy. For a moment, in the shadows, she looks like a large rock, huddled on the gravel. I kneel at her side. She’s trembling.
“Wolves.” She whispers. “Not again. I can’t face the wolves again. Not after last time.”
I stroke her back. “It’s okay. There are gates. We’re safe.” I’m not really sure that’s true, but I say it anyway.
“I was at home.” She says. “And they came. I didn’t run. I thought…..I thought they were just people. People can be reasoned with.” A huge sob rises up in her throat. “And they only take white girls! Everyone knows that.” She gulps in air mixed with pain, like a dying fish. “Then….they passed me be
tween them in the truck. It hurt so much, so many times. I passed out and they didn’t stop. In the end...I bit one of them when he tried to make me…..there was so much blood. Then, I think I was hit in the head.”
“It’s okay.” I say again. Missy shakes her head furiously.
“It’s not okay! It’ll never be okay!”
I help Missy to stand up, I wish I could be more use to her, but I can’t erase the past for her, nobody can do that. I have enough awful memories of my own.
“Someone’s going to talk to them.” I tell her. Then, because I feel brave, I transfer Missy into River’s arms.
“Take care of her.” I say. River’s eyes cloud over with concern.
“Where are you going?”
“To see what’s going on.”
“Josh, they’re Wolves. They’re not human. We need to hide.”
“I won’t be long.” I promise, and I dart away into the darkness before River can object any further. Keeping to the shadows of the tall trees, I follow the old man along the drive towards the gates. He walks forwards at a decent, confident pace until he reaches the gates. The men beyond quieten a little as he approaches. I’ve never seen men like this before, it’s like an army of eyes peering out of shadows. Dozens of them. River’s right, they do seem inhuman.
“Now then.” The old man begins. “What’s this then? I hope you realise we’ve employ a decent security team here.”
To my surprise, the men beyond the gates start to laugh. Then one of them leans forward, his arm draped through the bars as though the bars are there for his comfort, not to prevent him gaining access.
“Open up.” He says. He has a deep, gravelly voice and an accent I can’t place.
“I think you chaps should leave. This is private property.”
“Open up.” The man growls again.
The old man turns and surveys the garden behind him. To his right I can see two men in what look like old-fashioned army fatigues standing and staring uselessly at events. They both seem armed, which it comforting.
“You two!” The old man calls in his clipped voice. “Come here!”
The men hesitate before lumbering over. I was right, they are armed, although neither appear particularly intimidating.
The old man sweeps his eyes over both men before dropping his voice.
“How many security officers does Zeb have and where the hell are they?”
One of the men, short with a scruffy moustache that looks like a mouse trapped above a thick upper lip, shrugs. “Dunno. Around I guess.”
“Well, what the Hell do you do when there’s a security emergency?”
“There’s never really been one. I mean, a couple of feminists tried to chuck fireworks through the gates and painted some stuff on the wall. But, you know, we’ve never really been needed.”
“Well I need you. One of you go and find the rest of your team, damn you, and make sure they’re armed.” He nods at the taller, leaner soldier. “You stay here.”
The man looks doubtfully at the wolves. “We can’t fight Wolves.”
“What?”
“We can’t. I mean, nobody can. Everyone knows when the Wolves come you run and hide and give them whatever the Hell they ask for. Zeb doesn’t pay enough for us to risk our lives.”
The man at the gate, his eyes bright but the rest of him hidden, watches this exchange with amusement. He chuckles and the sound is raspy, like sandpaper.
“You’ve got two choices.” He says. “You open this gate, or we tear it down. Depends how much structural damage you want to mend afterwards.”
The old man doesn’t appear intimidated although I suspect that to be a lie.
“What do you want?”
“To come in.”
“Why?”
The man tuts. “I’m waiting.” The trucks rev their engines and the men on their roofs and hanging out of the windows clutch guns that are too big to be hidden in pockets. I remember the pictures as the Islamic State conquered Europe, that’s what these men look like, they look like killers.
“If you tell me what you want, we can talk about this.”
“No talking.”
The old man, to my surprise, draws a small pistol himself and holds it in a remarkably steady hand.
“Now look here. I don’t want to shoot you -”
The Wolf shakes his head. “You won’t. There are twenty guns aimed at you.”
“You’ll still die.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Now, let us in and maybe you get to stay alive.”
The old man still holds the gun, but he takes a few tentative steps forwards, towards the control box at the side of the gate, I assume that’s the lock.
“Dump the gun.” The Wolf commands.
“I prefer to keep it.”
“Suit yourself. You want to be buried with it too?”
The old man hesitates for a few, tense seconds before flinging his pistol away with a loud tutting sound. It lands half a metre from my feet, and despite my own terror, I bend down and pick it up. Any sort of weapon has to be better than nothing. I glance down at the gun. I’ve never even held one before, I have no idea how to use it.
The two men in fatigues look terrified.
“Don’t let them in!” The one with the beard squeaks. “They’ll kill us all.”
“This gate won’t hold them.” The old man answers in a steady voice. “I think….I think we need to cooperate.”
“We need to fucking run!”
“Well, run then.” But they don’t move, I think they’re too frightened. Wolves shoot for no reason other than fun, they’d both be mown down before they got ten steps away.
The old man keys the number into the pad and the gates grind open, welcoming the men waiting beyond.
With a whoop of vicious excitement, the trucks screech forwards, their tyres throwing up gravel like shrapnel.
I pull myself behind a tree and I watch as the lead truck drives directly at the old man. He doesn’t stand a chance, both he, and the two security men, are deliberately struck by the vehicle and ground down beneath the wheels. I watch it happen in silent horror, the screams of the Wolves, the gunshots and the engines drown out the sounds of death, but I know those men couldn’t survive.
From behind the tree I watch the Wolves race towards the house. I just hope River and Missy have seen sense and hidden too.
~
Dai
As soon as he saw the Wolves at the gates, Dai hauled Alaia’s lifeless body into his arms and began to run. He heard the engines and the shouts of raging triumph behind him, and felt himself completely exposed as one of the headlights caught him in its beam like a searchlight, illuminating him as clearly as the moon.
With a shriek of pleasure, the truck changed direction, heading after Dai over the gardens, crushing plants and smashing into stone ornaments. Dai leapt to the side, changing direction rapidly, heading for the house. He threw himself through the front door as the truck came to a screeching halt, its wheels half on the steps outside, spinning as if there was still ground beneath them.
Clutching Alaia and panting heavily, Dai turned in time to hear the occupants of the truck swarm out, a dozen black beetles with burning eyes. He spun around as the glass panels in the front door shattered and the beetles poured in.
“Please!” There was no point in running, but nor could he raise his hands in surrender.
The butt of a rifle smashed into his face and he collapsed backwards, several teeth loosened, but he still held Alaia, refusing to let her go.
“Don’t kill them!” Somebody gave the order in a hard voice and Dai was surprised they spoke English rather than Arabic. “Not yet! Get everybody out. Search the rooms. There are slaves here somewhere. Get them all out.”
Dai was dragged to his feet. He spat out a mixture of blood and saliva and at least two teeth.
“Let – let me take Alaia!”
The Wolf released him long enough to allow him to scoop up the body, then he was
hauled out into the courtyard.
Everything was happening so fast. There were at least two dozen Wolves, all armed, all dark, living shadows with all humanity drained away, leaving only something devilish behind. He searched the area and saw Missy manhandled across the gravel.
“Missy!”
Missy stared round wildly. “Dai!”
“I’m here -”
Another blow to the head and a fierce shut up, prevented Dai from reaching his sister. He lay, sprawled on the steps as another truck drew up to the front of the house.
One of the Wolves leapt out of the driver’s side, circled the bonnet, and pulled open the passenger door. Then he reached up and took hold of the woman who was sitting there by the waist, lifting her almost gently to the ground.
The woman laughed. “You’re so gallant.” She said, and Dai noticed that the other Wolves stopped and looked at her. The violent sounds of war faded a little although did not diminish, and the woman dusted down the tight black jumper she wore over jeans.
“So,” She said, gazing around with interest. “This is where my daughter is hiding, is it?”
~
Josh
Diana Lamont saunters forwards, drawing her fingers across the chest of the Wolf who helped her down. In a surreal, almost pornographic moment, he grabs her, pulls her into his arms and kisses her for several seconds. It’s a long, aggressive example of the sort of toxic masculinity against which I’ve always been warned.
Diana breaks away giggling.
“Aren’t they delicious?” She says to nobody in particular. “They’re real men, not the sort of weak creatures found in Old Britain.”
“I thought you detested real men.”
River is there, standing between two Wolves, glowering. Diana approaches.
“Darling, I’m so glad to see you.” She embraces River in an awkward hug. River pushes her away. “Be like that then.”
She gazes around. “So this is Zebedee Jourdete’s place? Well now, there’s a surprise.”
“A surprise.”
“That my business rival should turn out to be a different sort of rival. Aunt Sally.” She turns to one of the Wolves. “When you find the slaves, load them into the trucks. Zeb won’t be needing them any more.”
