by Unknown
‘Put them on, and be quick about it.’ he grouched.
Janna said nothing to make her situation worse. She had already felt the guard’s spite, almost freezing to death as a consequence of her defiance.
No sooner was she dressed than the guard placed the cuffs back on. Where he thought she was going to go was anyone’s guess. She had nowhere to run or hide, so what was the point of putting the cuffs on time and time again? Maybe he liked to revel in her vulnerable state and wanted to make her feel helpless in every way. It had reached the point where she felt the need to speak out, and sod the consequences.
‘Where the hell do you think I’m going to go, you stupid idiot?’ she shrieked.
The guard’s response was so quick, she almost didn’t believe it happened until her face was in the dirt. He had pushed her to the ground and placed his foot on her face.
‘Keep it up, bitch.’ he replied with menace. ‘And see if I don’t kick your pretty little head in.’
She gritted her teeth as the weight of the guard’s foot was lifted from her face. She was then pulled to her knees and stood up forcefully.
‘You’d best pray for a quick death, because I’ll see to it that you suffer in every way possible.’ he hissed. ‘In fact, I have something to show you before I take you to the huts.’
He led her to what was known as ‘the infirmary’, which was in fact, a slaughterhouse. David had been laid out on a steel table belly-down, with his head placed on a wooden block. It was a crude sort of chopping block, still covered in the last victim’s blood. She was taken into the room where he lay in his semi-conscious state, helpless and unable to escape his impending doom. The guard stood behind her and held her head in position to make sure that she saw what was about to happen to her beloved husband.
‘If you dare scream or close your eyes, you’ll be next.’
All she could do was watch as the camp’s doctor approached his hapless victim with a crude, almost blunt axe. She tried to struggle, but as soon as she did, the guard’s hands squeezed her head tighter. She let out an almighty scream, and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to watch her husband being murdered in front of her.
Stroke after stroke, the axe fell on David’s neck, cutting deeper with every attempt but not killing him straight away. She could hear the sound of him gargling on his own blood as it swilled around in his mouth.
She fell to the floor and screamed to the heavens. ‘Please! Just finish it.’ she begged. ‘I can’t watch another second of this.’
The guard stood her up again and held her in place. She became hysterical as the doctor continued to hack away at her husband’s head.
‘The dogs are in for a treat tonight.’ the doctor chortled.
She growled angrily, goading the guard watching her to beat her unconscious. He left her lying in a pool of her own blood.
The doctor saw that he wasn’t going to be able to detach his victim’s head as easily as he’d hoped, but he did put him out of his misery by slitting his throat. The barbarity he had shown his victim was for Janna’s eyes only. He never had any intention of killing the man in such a manner, instead intending to give him a lethal overdose and then watch him sink into oblivion.
#
Two of the camp’s guards dragged an unconscious Janna towards the furthest hut of five in the compound. They dropped her to the floor in a heap and opened the door to reveal twenty terrified faces. She was uncuffed and dumped inside unceremoniously. No sooner had the door shut behind them than the other inmates went to her aid, but only three had any intentions of really helping her. The others had been so sex-starved that they just wanted to have their wicked way with her. The guard wasn’t joking when he said he was going to make her life miserable, and putting her in an all-male hut confirmed it. It was horrifying trying to fend off the rabid hounds and their unwanted advances as they challenged every fibre in her body, hardening her to what lay in store.
CHAPTER THREE
So far, Sam and Oscar’s journey had been hazard-free. In fact, it was almost eerie, scarily quiet. The time was almost six ‘o’clock in the evening, and their hunger was outweighing their need to get to their destination. Many miles had been covered since they left the Saracen home in the early hours. They had been on the move for twelve hours, with only small rest breaks along the way. The only thing that had stopped them collapsing with exhaustion was the copious amounts of water that they had been drinking as the day wore on. Oscar had even learnt the art of pissing on the hard shoulder along the main road, and thought he was very grown up for doing it. There was nobody around to tell him that he couldn’t, only Sam, from whom he had picked it up in the first place.
The roads they had taken were devoid of any kind of vehicle. Apart from the patrols, nobody was allowed to own transport; if they did, it was confiscated and melted down to make weaponry for the war effort. It was a case of walk to your destination, or stay put. Even public transport vehicles were melted down for weaponry.
#
Sam spotted a little lay-by a bit farther up the road, with what looked like a food wagon hidden around the corner.
‘Fancy a burger, little man?’ he chirped.
Oscar grinned from ear to ear and nodded vigorously.
‘Yes please.’
They ran as fast as they could towards the wagon, but they weren’t alone. A small group of people had already taken over it.
‘Stay here, Oscar—I won’t be long.’
His eyes followed Sam as he walked up to the wagon to see if they would be welcome. Watching from his vantage point, he bore witness to a shocking sight. It turned out that the people at the wagon were, in fact, outlaws. Oscar looked on in fear and helplessness as they started to rough him up, but even he could see that they were only rendering him helpless; he was not in danger of dying, or being seriously hurt by their violence.
‘You, boy, come here.’ One of the renegades barked. ‘Don’t make me come and get you.’
Oscar looked puzzled; the man’s accent was alien to him. He certainly wasn’t from around these parts. He did as he was told. They had no interest in harming a child. As it would turn out, they were victims just as much as he was.
Sam sat up finally, still dazed. ‘Who are you?’ he asked groggily.
‘We’re trying to get as far away from London as possible.’ the leader of the group explained. ‘We’re being hunted by the government for being Scottish.’
‘I’ve heard about people like you.’ he replied. ‘The government is calling you non-pure bloods, for want of a better term.’
‘That’s right, we are – but we’re not here to create a war this side of the border, we just want to get home.’
Sam stood up, and Oscar ran to his side.
‘Do you think they’ll feed us, Sammy?’ he asked, his famished stomach grumbling.
‘I don’t know.’ he groaned, holding his bruised left side.
Oscar dared to walk up to the Scotsman to ask him for a bite of the burger the man was brandishing in front of him.
‘Please, mister. Can I have a bite?’ he begged.
‘No you can’t, wee boy.’ said the burley Scotsman, before adding, ‘but I can make you your very own.’
Again, he grinned from ear to ear. ‘Can my friend have one as well?’
‘Now, you’re pushing your luck, boy.’ the Scotsman smiled. ‘Of course he can.’
Oscar ran back over to Sam, grabbed his hand and walked with him to the wagon for their share of the spoils.
They ate until their bellies were fit to burst. Some of the group members hadn’t eaten properly in days, whereas others had resorted to eating dead, maggot-infested animals from under their feet. It was the way things were heading. Food supplies were being rationed to the point of lunacy, and the only way forward was learning how to be resourceful. Sam and Oscar had been fortunate so far. They had had food in plentiful supply, but it was only a matter of time before they too would struggle to find their nex
t mouthful. Bleak times lay ahead in the wake of the war: not just for the victims of the witch hunts, but for everyone still breathing and living within the government’s evil grasp.
#
With their rest period over, they decided it was time to part ways with their Scottish brethren. They would leave them to go about their separate journeys, as the Scottish would surely be heading in the direction of the Watford gap. It was the only safe way to the North, and to their country. The South was no longer an option.
The Scots would take the North Circular road, and its counterpart, the South Circular, would take Sam and Oscar to where they needed to go. They would need to go a couple of miles farther to reach Woolwich and take the ferry from there towards Catford. Their final destination was Dartford. The ferry was the only form of non-military transport left for the people to use; the government had at least extended them that.
There was no allotted time for reaching their destination, as long as they got there safely. So far, with the exception of the food wagon, their journey had been incident-free. The ferry loomed in the distance and Sam glanced down at Oscar.
‘Come on little man, we’re nearly there.’
He scooped Oscar up and ran with all his might, seeing the barriers closing for departure.
‘Wait!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping that the ferry attendant would hear him. But the barrier came crashing down, and the ferry let out an ear-piercing screech to mark the beginning of its journey. He put Oscar down and squatted, placing his head in his hands out of frustration before realising that it wouldn’t be long before the ferry returned. It was only a fifteen-minute journey one way. The most they would have to wait would be an hour, but it was still an inconvenience. He wanted to get to Dartford sooner rather than later; the darker it got, the more the hazards would grow.
#
Sam could see the ferry returning in the distance. Oscar had been dosing while they waited.
‘Come on, little man – the ferry’s docking.’ he said, as he nudged him awake. ‘We need to get to the barriers.’
The attendant raised the barrier again to let the small influx of people exit from the ferry. Sam grabbed hold of Oscar’s hand tightly, as people barged past them without a care in the world.
It appeared that they were the only passengers making their way south; they had the whole ferry to themselves. It was a choppy journey on an uneasy River Thames, making Oscar feel sick, trying not too lose the contents of his stomach.
‘You don’t look too well, Oscar.’ Sam said with a hint of concern. ‘You seem to have turned a peculiar shade of green.’
Seeing the boy turn greener and greener, Sam took hold of him and forced his finger down his throat before running him to the side of the boat. The next moment, he was watching his breakfast sailing down the Thames.
‘There, does that make you feel better?’ asked Sam.
Oscar gave a solitary nod of the head in reply, wiping his mouth on the corner of his jacket.
‘Good lad.’ Sam said, side-hugging the boy.
The ferry dock was looming in the distance, and once they disembarked they would head in the direction of Charlton—then, from there to Catford. The ferry was coming into port, docking at its station with a clunk.
The barriers lifted and the ramp came down. Both of them moved swiftly away in the direction of the military hospital that sat majestically to the right of them on their way to Charlton.
#
A veil of darkness fell upon them, and their need to get out of the open grew with every minute. There was a derelict housing estate just on the outskirts of Charlton, which lay over the brow of a hill that they had been struggling up. It would suffice as a place to shelter for the night. It had become a sanctuary for the homeless and others trying to escape the brutal trappings of Central London.
Slowly and cautiously, they crept their way through. They tried to avoid looking through the windows of the properties they passed by, but it didn’t stop the occupants of those buildings from watching their every move.
They could feel eyes on them, and it was hard not to stare back. Oscar’s curiosity got the better of him, as he looked at the many eyes staring in his direction.
‘Oscar, turn away. Don’t stare at them.’
He didn’t want trouble: all he wanted was to find shelter. He could see that he was not going to get a peaceful transition. The vagrants came out in droves to see what these two intruders were doing on their territory.
‘Oi! You two—little and bloody large,’ the leader screamed. ‘Piss off will yer.’
Sam dared to approach the menacing figure, but in a cautionary stance. He held his hands out in a calming manner.
‘I ain’t looking for trouble; I just want shelter for me and the boy.’
A middle-aged woman came from behind the threatening figure and looked upon him, then over at Oscar. She beckoned him over. He was now beginning to realise that she was the one in charge of the scruffy, unkempt rabble that came out to greet them.
‘Where do you hail from, young man?’ she asked inquisitively. There was no reply. ‘Oh, come on. It was a simple enough question. Don’t you think it warrants an answer?’
He looked at her reluctantly. ‘I’m sorry ma’am–––’ the woman laughed at him.
‘Do I look like you should be calling me ma’am? Please don’t. It makes me feel older than I want to be. My name is Miriam and this lot behind me are my followers—and collectively, we are known as The Independent Mind.’
Sam had heard a lot about this elusive group, and how they were intent on bringing down the government. It was the only thing the people of London were talking about, apart from the war.
He stood in awe as he answered her question. ‘We have come from Piccadilly.’
‘Why are you so far away from home?’ she asked probingly. ‘Are you running from something? We’re all running from something, so I assume that you are too? Is the government after you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m trying to get the boy to Dartford. His parents have been arrested and I can’t run the risk of him falling into the hands of the patrols—they would kill him.’
‘I know about these patrols. I’ve heard they’re brutal.’ she replied.
He nodded by way of a reply.
‘Please, come, bring the boy.’ she said, welcoming him. ‘My home is your home for as long as you need it to be.’
Sam called his young charge over. ‘It’s safe, Oscar—come.’
He ran over to him and wrapped both of his arms around Sam’s waist. Sam pulled him in close, squeezing him reassuringly.
‘We’ll be fine, little man.’
Everybody moved out of the darkness and into the safety of their procured dwellings, with their welcomed guests in tow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Janna Saracen was beginning to question why she was still alive. She had been subjected to all manner of torments during her brief stay in labour camp three. Beaten and bloody and almost raped to death, she was looking for a way out of her miserable existence. The thought of killing herself had crossed her mind more than once, but she couldn’t find the courage to carry out her plans. Mentally, she had no more strength left. Physically, she was barely hanging on.
The three men who had come to her rescue in the beginning had quickly turned on her, and were now part of the problem. She hadn’t foreseen this. She was now totally alone, with no one left to protect her.
‘Come and get it, boys.’ she shouted at the top of her lungs, flinging herself on her bunk. One by one the male inmates ravaged her again, and she begged for any one of them to put her out of her misery once and for all.
‘Someone end this!’ she screamed, waiting for her final breath to arrive in the form of a mercy killing.
No sooner had the next inmate laid on top of her than the door swung open.
‘You, get off of her.’ The guard growled. ‘Come with me, Saracen, it’s your lucky day.’
Janna
didn’t understand.
‘What? Where am I going?’ she asked, apprehensively.
‘We are putting you with the women,’ he explained. ‘The guard who put you in here has been dismissed.’ She was visibly shaken and confused. This guard was being far too nice. What was really going on? She was about to find out.
This seemingly nice guard took hold of her and cuffed her hands behind her back for the journey to the women’s enclosure. He wasn’t rough, but rather as gentle as he could be. This made her feel a little uneasy. What are his intentions? Does he really have any? Am I reading too much into the situation? These and many other questions rattled around in her head.
#
The guard had done as he had set out to do. Much to her relief, he had taken her to the women’s enclosure. He walked her up to the third hut in the line of five, slowly uncuffed her and opened the door wide.
She was faced with a room full of terrified women. The guard was not all he seemed after all. It was obvious by the looks on their faces that they had been made to do things that they didn’t want to do. Several women had beaten faces and bruises up their arms, which she put down to being manhandled.
The guard had now replaced any niceties with the traditional brutality that he had been accustomed to carrying out. He pushed her through the door and cackled maniacally to himself as he shut it behind him.
‘What the hell?’ she said hysterically. ‘What is this place?’
One of the women approached her and placed her hands on Janna’s shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes for a single moment.
‘You are right to be scared,’ she told her sternly. ‘This is what the guards refer to as the rape room. This is hell on earth, my dear.’
Janna took hold of the inmate’s hands and removed them from her shoulders. Slowly, she made her way over to the only bunk left and lay atop it, looking wearily at the faces staring at her. A sense of relief washed over her, but it wasn’t long before the door swung open again, and at least six of the labour camp guards came in. They spotted Janna straight away.
