“How many of the Brothers patrol the town?”
“Usually three pairs. Two in the square and one out at the pier. Why?”
“Oh, just curious. They seem to keep good order,” he said.
The other man spat in the dirt.
“They’re assholes.”
Luke smiled.
“I figured as much,” he said, before heading into the crowd.
He decided he’d have a look at the pier before leaving Old Orchard Beach. There was no reason to stay. He’d seen the ocean and scratched that particular itch. And now the all-encompassing grief he’d been feeling had faded to a dull ache, he found that he was missing his people. It was time to go home.
He made his way through the crowded square. Now that he’d made the decision to go home, he felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. It would be good to see Isaac, Indigo, Ben and the rest again.
He thought he might even visit Concord on the way back and say hi to the Colonel and his assistant Becky.
Luke smiled at the locals as he squeezed past them, his good mood at the decision rubbing off on his general disposition. He passed the stall at the end of the square where the second pair of Brothers loitered without looking at them and headed out towards the pier.
The pier didn’t look much different to how he remembered it. A wooden ramp led up to a kind of rickety looking hodgepodge of buildings on spidery stilts. For old times’ sake he took a walk through it. It didn’t feel quite so big as it had when he was a kid, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy was absent, replaced by a kind of damp staleness.
He’d made it about halfway along when he saw the pier patrol coming his way. He’d seen enough and thought it better not to tempt fate. He turned around and headed back.
While they obviously had some questionable methods, maybe this ‘Brotherhood’ wasn’t as bad for everyone as Diana thought?
He thought he might drop back in at Willatan Green as he passed through to tell them what he’d seen in Old Orchard Beach. He thought it might ease her mind about what would happen to Tommy and the rest when they left.
***
Luke headed down the ramp and back into the town square and instantly noticed the commotion on the north side of the square. A crowd had gathered, yelling and whistling.
Naturally curious, he headed across the square and then sidled through the crowd until he could look over the shoulders of those in the front row. What he saw angered him. Both pairs of the Brothers who had been patrolling the square had surrounded the kid, Spalding.
They had taken his ball and were throwing it to each other as the poor kid, tears running down his face, tried to grab it. His knees were bloody, and snot ran down over his mouth and chin.
Obviously, they’d been at it a while.
“Have you seen my ball,” the kid wailed.
“Here it is Dummy, come and get it,” said the tallest of the Brothers, holding it out.
The kid made a play for the ball and the Brother threw it over his head to another. A cruel game of piggy in the middle.
“No here it is, Dummy. Come on, I’ll let you have it.”
As the kid spun around, the tall Brother kicked him in the backside. Spalding tumbled to the road. Luke felt his anger grow hotter.
Not my fight, he told himself.
Some in the crowd laughed along with the Brothers, however most were silent and disapproving.
The kid got to his feet.
“Have you seen my ball?” he asked plaintively as he rushed at the Brother now holding the ball, a stocky youth of about twenty with blonde spikey hair. Spalding charged at him and Blondie threw it to the fellow beside him.
The kid tried to change direction, but he tripped, and his momentum carried him directly into Blondie. They both crashed heavily to the pavement in a tangle of legs and arms.
The three Brothers doubled up, laughing raucously at their buddy’s misfortune, along with a goodly portion of the crowd. Spalding scrambled to his feet fast, his eyes flitting this way and that, looking for his ball. The third Brother, a good looking black guy with a scar on his cheek, waved the ball tantalizingly at Spalding who immediately started towards him.
That was when Blondie, his nose bleeding, reared up behind him and grabbed the kid by the hair, ripping him backwards and slamming him down into the pavement.
The crowd groaned and the Brothers laughed. All except Blondie, who had murder in his eyes. He leaned over Spalding, with his hands still twisted in the kid’s hair.
“You fucking hit me, you retard!” he spat as he pulled the Billy club out of his belt.
Spalding struggled, attempting to free his hair and stand at the same time. Blondie swung his club…
It never found its intended target. To those mesmerized by the cruel show in front of them, the big red-haired man seemed to come from nowhere. Not there one moment. There and swinging his big old axe, the next.
The flat of the axe head knocked the Billy club out of Blondie’s grasp. He dropped to his knees, rocking and howling as he nursed his shattered hand. Luke stood over him long enough to ensure he wouldn’t be a problem before facing the other three.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Give the kid his ball.”
The shock of the attack wore off quickly and all three took out their Billy clubs.
“Mister, you just bought yourself a whole lotta trouble,” said the big one as they moved to surround him. “You should drop that axe.”
Luke planted his feet apart, holding the axe loosely.
“I said, give the kid his ball.”
Almost on cue, Spalding climbed to his feet rubbing the back of his head.
“Have you seen my ball?” he asked no one in particular.
The Brother with the ball held it out to the kid. His other hand held the Billy club. He was tapping it rhythmically against his thigh.
“Here ya go, kid. Come get your ball,” he said.
Luke knew what would happen next. They would grab the kid and threaten to hurt him until Luke dropped his weapon. He couldn’t let that happen. Even as Spalding started towards the black Brother, Luke raised the axe and in one powerful motion threw it hard at the man. He released it in such a way that it didn’t spin end over end, just flew head first straight at the man holding the ball.
The top of the weapon struck him in the forehead and he fell backwards, out cold before he hit the pavement. Then three things happened. The ball rolled free of his hands, and bounced away as Spalding chased it. The larger of the remaining Brothers rushed at Luke. And the last man, apparently not liking these new odds, pulled a whistle from under the robe at his neck and began blowing it frantically.
Luke blocked the first swing of the big guy’s Billy club with his hook arm and swung a punch at the hard belly of the Brother. It was like punching a sack of flour, and the big guy didn’t even wince. His charge carried them both to the ground.
His assailant rolled on top of him and punched Luke in the side of the head. It was a glancing blow, but Luke still saw stars. He managed to shove his forearm under the bastard’s throat and grab for the club with his good hand.
In something of a stalemate, their hands wrestled for control of the polished wooden club. That’s when the last Brother saw his opportunity to end it. He dropped the whistle from his lips.
“I’m gonna crack your skull,” he yelled, as he charged.
Luke looked up, but before he even had a chance to feel dismay, he saw the Brother’s face change from determination to surprise as he fell face first onto the pavement. Luke spied the stick that had tripped the Brother as it disappeared between the legs of the front row and then appeared again over the top, a blurred arc. It crashed down on the fallen Brother’s head and knocked him out cold.
Luke heard a distant whistling. That would be back up from the Brothers patrolling the pier. Luke renewed his efforts, pushing his forearm harder into the throat of his attacker while keeping his full weight on the arm that held the club th
ey were fighting for. The Brother resisted for a few more seconds, then his numb fingers lost their grip and Luke pulled the club free and smacked him hard on the temple.
Lights out.
Luke got to his feet, exhausted, and crossed the carnage of the battlefield to pick up his axe. The whistling was closer now and he stood, axe in hand, ready to face the fresh pair of combatants when they arrived.
The kid was nowhere to be seen. That was good. He wouldn’t come out on top this time, and it was better if the kid wasn’t around to face the wrath of the Brotherhood afterward.
Then a strange thing happened. As the patrol from the pier wound their way through the throng, the crowd closed around him. Luke felt himself pulled and guided gently by unseen hands.
“Time for you to go, me boy,” a gruff voice said behind him.
He turned and found the one-armed man from the toy stall grinning at him. He held the stout walking stick that had taken care of the Brother. He tucked it under his arm and handed Luke the worn fur overcoat that was draped over his shoulder.
“Put that coat on and get out as quick as you can. We’ll cover for you.”
Luke propped his axe against his thigh and pulled the long black coat on before tucking the axe under the voluminous garment.
He heard a yell from the direction of the scene of the recently fought battle.
“Go!”
Luke made off to the sounds of cursing and harsh questions from the newly arrived Brothers, his escape covered by the crowd, several of whom patted him appreciatively on the back as he went.
21
Luke headed out of Old Orchard Beach quickly. He decided he wouldn’t stop until he hit Alfred again. There he would spend the night in the house where he found the matches. He didn’t know if the Brotherhood would begin a manhunt for him, but if they did, he doubted it would reach as far as Alfred.
***
He arrived in Alfred an hour after dark. There was a chill in the night air, so he was glad of the overcoat and didn’t waste any time finding his former abode. His head hurt. His feet hurt. He just wanted to sleep.
Sleep he did. So soundly in fact that if anyone had stumbled upon him in the night, they could have taken care of him without a peep.
In the morning, he went into the backyard and whizzed, enjoying the early morning sun on his neck before heading back in to grab his axe and newly acquired overcoat.
He clipped his axe in place and tied the big overcoat around his waist. It flopped almost to the ground, and he thought if it got too annoying he might have to discard it.
“And that would be a damn shame,” he said, as he opened the front door of his overnight stay.
He was about to step down onto the path when he heard something he’d only heard yesterday for the first time in a long time. The clip clop of horse’s hooves.
Luke stopped in his tracks and changed course, heading behind an overgrown hedge that would hide him from the main street. As the hooves drew closer he also heard men’s voices. He got down low and snuck to the end of the hedge.
100 yards away from the intersection with the 202, at ground level and in the shadows, he was virtually invisible. He pulled out his stopwatch and clicked it on to pass time while he waited. Three minutes and twenty-three seconds later they came into view.
The Brotherhood! Six of them. All wearing the brown monk’s habits except for one, who wore black. They were leading two Clydesdale horses pulling a utility trailer each. Horses pulling car trailers looked strange, but probably no more incongruous than a bunch of guys in monk’s habits walking down Main Street USA.
Initially he thought they might be after him, but they were too far from home and why the hell would they bring Clydesdales to apprehend a fugitive?
No. These guys were on a mission and it didn’t take a genius to work out this was the group headed to Willatan Green to collect their monthly ‘contribution’. All of them looked strong and lean and carried wooden staffs rather than the Billy clubs. He didn’t spot any other weapons.
Within a few seconds they had passed, and Alfred returned to the quiet little ghost town it had been a few minutes before.
Luke stood up, reset the stopwatch and walked out onto the 202. He watched the small procession disappear into the distance then clicked the stopwatch on. Five more minutes ought to give him enough room to pursue them without being spotted.
***
He revised his plans to visit Willatan Green. He was pretty sure these guys would have his description, and, he was just as sure he wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue if he headed to the town and these assholes were taking their spoils, not to mention the kids.
Diana had made that clear and she seemed to know what she was doing.
No. He would pass Brotherhood, skip Willatan Green and head for home.
“Not my business…”
22
“So, we’ll be taking two boys back with us, Senior Brother?”
The six men sat around a fire they had built by the side of the road.
“Yes, Brother Mark,” said the man in the black monk’s habit.
The color marked him as a Senior – and the leader of this particular expedition. They would reach Willatan Green mid-afternoon tomorrow to collect their contribution for the month plus the new recruits.
Jarryd, his bald head glinting in the firelight, reached into his habit and pulled out a scroll of paper that he unfurled.
“Their names are Thomas and Jacob. Oh, and we’ll be collecting a female too.”
Two of the brothers whooped and high fived each other. The white rope around their waist marked them as novices and they were the youngest of the group.
“Told you Damien!” the scrawnier of the two said.
Senior Brother Jarryd sprung to his feet, his hickory staff a blur as it cut through the air and collected first one, then the other on the head. Lucky for the two boys he pulled his strikes.
Even if they were glancing blows, they still hurt, and both boys collapsed to the dirt, moaning and holding their skulls.
“You will show respect for the Eves. They are not for your pleasure, they are God’s sacred vessels.”
He spun his staff with a flourish and rested it beside him as he sat back down.
Taylor saw the more experienced members of the crew look nervously at each other as he served them up bowls of stew. The heavily muscled Jarryd was a serious bastard, and meted justice swiftly and surely. As the two boys had just found that out to their detriment.
No one was better with the staff than this senior Brother, and since the edict banning them from carrying guns on collections, there was no one Taylor would rather travel with. He was mean but highly skilled and fought with a righteous fury when provoked.
Not that anyone would dare provoke them. Over the years the Brotherhood had grown and systematically swallowed up or defeated every outpost in the southwest of Maine. ‘Collections’ only took place in territories they had conquered, so there was little chance of resistance.
No, apart from the occasional isolated incident, like the disturbance in Old Orchard Green yesterday, no one dared test the authority of the Brotherhood. That encounter had been the talk of the dinner hall the night before.
A big, one handed man had bested four of the brothers and vanished into thin air – so the story went anyway. Taylor suspected the four had probably gotten sloppy and told a tall tale to cover their asses. If so, it didn’t work. Each of the four were replaced, punished with ten lashes of the whip before being sent back to Portland for ‘readjustment’.
Still, incidents like that showed that it paid not to be complacent, especially when taking new recruits from their loved ones. Luckily, Senior Brother Jarryd was the least complacent of any Brother that Taylor knew.
After evening prayers, they laid down on their sleeping rolls, the two novices nursing sore heads. Taylor took the first watch.
***
Brother Taylor had no inkling that the newly infamous one-ha
nded man passed them by near the end of his watch. None of them did. Luke was careful and moved quickly and silently. He stopped two hours later, sleeping outdoors for the first time in months, again thankful he hadn’t dumped the overcoat. He awoke with the dawn and ate two less-than-perfect peaches that he’d found growing beside the road the previous evening.
Judging by the height of the sun, he passed Willatan Green at about 1 o’clock. He stopped under the sign on the 202 and had a sip of water.
Luke's Trek (America Falls Book 5) Page 11
