by Matt Drabble
Quinn drove quickly through the flooded street before hitting the brakes hard outside the police station and skidding to a halt.
She checked around carefully before exiting the vehicle, leaving the motor running in case she had to make a quick getaway.
One of her biggest strengths had always been her ability to compartmentalise, and despite every horror that she had witnessed, her task now was a simple one and she concentrated on that.
The door was unlocked, as usual, but something made her stop as she pushed the door slightly open. The storm had understandably knocked the power out, but every building on the island had a generator fitted as standard. The problem was that the police station was still completely dark inside.
She hesitated for a moment outside. The radio to the mainland was inside and it was their only way of calling for help. She had never known an occasion when Dottie had not been at her post, but now, when they needed her the most, it appeared that she’d left.
Quinn pushed aside the unhelpful thoughts in her mind telling her that the dark building wasn’t safe and entered anyway; the island needed her and - more importantly - so did Caleb.
“HELLO?” she called out but got no reply.
“DOTTIE?” she tried again but got the same result.
Her voice sounded loud in the dark, a little too loud for her liking.
The station, such as it was, was little more than a couple of rooms. The darkness inside was oppressive and Quinn found herself edging gingerly around the main desk.
The storm outside had darkened the skies to such a degree that it already felt like night despite being only midafternoon.
She reached over the desk and lifted the centre flap up in order to pass through. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she took out her phone. The island had no cell reception but the mainland habit of carrying it hadn’t left her yet.
She used the flashlight app and the reception area was suddenly flooded with bright light.
“What the...?” she mouthed as her voice trailed off.
The radio system was destroyed. It was crude but effective. The metal casing had been hit multiple times with what looked like a heavy axe, the blade cutting deeply into the inner workings and obliterating the machine.
Something moved in the single room behind the reception area and she jumped in fright. She stayed rooted to the spot, craning her ears to hear any other sound, terror making her unable to run.
A trickle of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades as the wind howled outside, rattling the building.
She turned to creep back out of the building when she suddenly heard a soft moan coming from the back room.
The voice sounded feminine, and despite every instinct telling her to flee, Quinn took a step towards the door instead.
She heard the moan a second time, and this time she answered it.
“Dottie?” she called out softly.
The moan answered. This time it seemed a little stronger, and Quinn was sure that it was a woman. It sounded like a cry for help and Quinn couldn’t turn away now.
The door opened outwards and she gripped the handle and pulled. For some reason, the door was stiff and wouldn’t open. The voice inside moaned again, much louder this time, and it sounded like she was in pain and panicking.
Quinn yanked the door harder as the woman inside started to fade.
“I’m coming. Hang on!” Quinn yelled as she fought with the door.
She pulled harder and harder, placing one foot against the wall for leverage and straining back with all of her weight and might. The door gave a little, which infused her with fresh strength, and inch by inch she yanked the door open in a jerky motion.
Once the door was open enough to squeeze into the room, she pushed herself through, desperate to save Dottie from whatever fate had befallen her. The only problem being that Quinn was that fate.
Inside the holding cell, she turned back to the door and saw, with rising horror, that she had just helped to kill the older woman.
Dottie had a noose around her neck and tied to the door handle. Her feet were bound with the rest of the rope and the end tied to a radiator at the far end of the room. By yanking the door open, Quinn had effectively just strangled the woman.
She knelt down and checked for a pulse, praying for good news, but judging from the way Dottie’s eyes were bulging out of her head, there was no chance she was still alive.
The only thing that gave Quinn the slightest crumb of comfort was that on closer inspection she could see multiple stab wounds crisscrossing Dottie’s torso. There was a large pool of drying blood on the tiled floor and Quinn tried to tell herself that the woman had been close to death anyway. She almost believed it - but not quite.
----------
Gwendolyn took a break from the gathering and headed out back. She found it hard to believe that so many of her fellow Order members were seemingly going along with this whole charade. This should have been a sombre wake for their beloved leader’s passing, and yet Torvan seemed to be turning it into an obscene celebration.
The rain levels had dropped and mercifully so had the strength of the wind as she emerged out into the early evening air. There was a coolness now to the temperature as the storm had broken the back of the hot weather.
She hoisted up the bucket from the large well that provided fresh drinking water, water that was used by Brother Wilkes in his mead recipe. There were beehives on their land and Brother Wilkes used water and fermented honey to brew his concoction. The mead was in short supply tonight and Torvan’s troops were thirsty.
She sipped the cool water and splashed some onto her face to try and clear her thoughts. Torvan had been light on specifics, save only to claim that he had turned back an invading force from the island, a fact that she found hard to believe.
The island as a whole had lived in peace for hundreds of years, but apparently, open warfare had now broken out.
A hand on her shoulder startled her badly and she spun around to find Brother Jacobs staring hard at her with a look in his eyes that scared her badly.
The large man stood before her, his bald head glistened by the light rainfall and his red bushy beard soaked with thick mead.
“Care for a drink?” he asked as he thrust his tankard towards her.
“No thank you, Brother,” she replied demurely.
In truth she had no taste for the strong sweet brew, unlike many of her companions this evening.
“Here,” he slurred drunkenly as he forced the tankard against her chest and continued to hold it there while his eyes lingered.
“No..., really,” she replied, trying to back away.
Her progress was halted by the well behind her and Jacobs moved in even closer. He placed the tankard down and set his hands either side of her on the brickwork, trapping her with the motion.
“A pretty girl like you should have taken a husband by now,” Jacobs said, speaking softly.
His breath tickled her cheek and she started to panic. Such unwanted advances were unheard of under Solomon, but now the man was gone, she shuddered to think about what sort of leader his son would make.
“A pretty girl indeed,” he said as he lifted one coarse blacksmith’s finger and stroked her hair.
Gwendolyn flinched backwards on instinct and Jacobs’ eyes fired an angry red to match his beard.
“What’s the matter? Not good enough for you?” he demanded as he suddenly gripped her soft chin in a painful vicelike grip.
She was still trying to think her way out of the situation when he crushed his lips painfully against hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She squirmed, trying to get out from under him, but her movement only inflamed him further and she soon stopped.
Suddenly, as soon as the force had been thrust against her, it was gone, and so was he.
She opened her eyes to see Jacobs being yanked backwards at a rate of knots as an even larger man pulled him away. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she recognise
d Torvan as her saviour.
There was a brief struggle as the two men fought, but Jacobs stopped once he realised who he was fighting.
“I’m sorry, Brother,” Jacobs spluttered.
“Did he hurt you?” Torvan asked her directly as he held Jacobs with one mighty hand.
As much as she wanted Brother Jacobs to suffer, in that moment she knew by the cold look in Torvan’s eyes that the punishment would greatly outweigh the crime.
“I’m fine,” she finally replied. “You can let him go. Really, Torvan, it’s okay,” she added when he showed no signs of releasing the brother.
There was a long pregnant pause while Torvan seemed to be deciding internally, but eventually he let the man go and Jacobs slinked away.
“There are going to be long days ahead, ” Torvan said suddenly, his voice low and deep with thought. “The battle today was just the first of many and they will soon be coming for us, unless we come for them first.”
Gwendolyn looked around them, hoping that someone else might disturb their privacy, but there was no one. She didn’t like the way he was talking or the cold look in his eyes.
“Maybe we could broker a peace accord?” she asked lightly.
“There is no peace here, Gwendolyn. The gods speak to me now as they once did my father and they’ve told me their will.”
“I’m so sorry about Solomon; he was a great man, a great leader, a great father to us all.”
“He was, but he became weak, infected by the outside world the moment that he took a meeting with the outsiders.”
“But he only wanted what was best for us, Torvan.”
“HE WAS A COWARD!” Torvan suddenly raged with pure fury, and Gwendolyn took a step back in fear.
Torvan crossed the divide between them in a flash, and suddenly, she found herself in the same precarious position that she’d been in only a moment ago.
“He was a coward and undeserving of his position to lead us, but I won’t make that same mistake, my dear, you can believe that. I alone have the courage to do what is necessary. Only I am willing to make the sacrifice.”
His words and attitude were scary enough but she started to get a very bad feeling about what lay behind them.
“What happened to Solomon?” she suddenly asked pointedly.
“He... he had to die,” Torvan answered slowly. “He had to die so that we may live, so that I may rule and save us all.”
Gwendolyn tried desperately to keep the look of dismay off her face. Torvan wasn’t saying outright that he’d killed his father, but the inference was clear.
“I have the word of the Nine in my heart, Gwendolyn, and there shall be no mercy for the invaders. Only I have the stomach for what lies ahead, and trust me, I shall not shirk my responsibilities.”
She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Our war is far from over but our enemies will fall, some this very evening.” He smiled. “But in times of war there shall be no more father for the Order, Gwendolyn. From now on, there shall only be a king,” Torvan stated, his voice growing increasingly nervous and quiet.
“I understand,” she said, hoping to strike a neutral tone.
“But every king needs a queen, Gwendolyn, and I need you by my side; will you serve?”
Several thoughts rushed through her head at once, not least a desire for self-preservation. Torvan was clearly disturbed. His actions were violent and extreme, and he now had the whole Order to do his bidding.
It was the Order that concerned her the most. With Solomon at the helm, theirs had been a peaceful and humble life and she loved all of her brothers and sisters deeply, but under Torvan, they were all in deep dark danger. In the end, she swallowed her own fear and decided to put the others first, however terrifying that might be.
“I would be honoured,” she said, reaching out a hand to Torvan who took it and covered it in one of his own trembling hands.
The man dwarfed her in his sheer size and bulk, but now he seemed like a child again, nervous and awkward. She steeled herself and put her mind elsewhere as she pulled him down and kissed him, all the while telling herself that her sacrifice would be for the greater good.
----------
Caleb woke and it took him a few moments to realise where he was.
“Easy there,” Doc Simmons said as she placed a hand against his chest to stop him from sitting up too quickly. “You’ll have the stitches out if you’re not careful.”
“I feel like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer.”
“I had to give you a bunch of stuff to put you under and then stop the bleeding.”
“Where’s Quinn?” he asked, suddenly noticing that she wasn’t there.”
“She went to radio for help.”
“How long ago?”
Simmons looked down at her shoes.
“How long, Doc?” Caleb demanded.
“A while,” she admitted. “Hey, wait now,” she said quickly as Caleb started to rise. “You can’t go out there, not yet; you lost a lot of blood and you’re only going to reopen the wound again if you start running around in that storm.”
“Where’s my shirt?”
Simmons crossed her arms and stared back defiantly.
“Fine then. I’ll go and catch my death of a cold into the bargain,” he said angrily as he swung his feet off the table.
“Dammit, Caleb. Wait a minute.”
She disappeared back through a door before emerging a few moments later holding a hooded sweatshirt.
“Put this on,” she said, throwing it at him.
“You didn’t see what happened out there, Doc,” he said, grimacing as he pulled the top on over his head with some difficulty.
“Oh, I’m sure that Cooper and his cronies went looking for trouble and found it.”
“Those bastard Niners went nuts and killed a bunch of people out there, Doc. Cut them down without a second thought. You didn’t see it,” he finished quietly as he remembered seeing Torvan split his father in two with a giant axe.
“How many?”
“I honestly have no idea, Doc, but we need help and we need it now.”
“Quinn should have been back by now,” Simmons admitted, now looking decidedly nervous.
“Then I’m going to find her.”
Caleb limped his way to the front door. He had to stop and lean against a bookcase on the way to gather himself before carrying on.
“I’m coming with you,” Simmons said, watching him stagger.
“The hell you are.”
“The hell I’m not,” she replied firmly, grabbing her medical bag before thrusting a bunch of supplies inside. “You can barely walk, Caleb, and our people need me. Whatever’s gone on out there, you’re going to need my help, so don’t bother arguing because we don’t have the time.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed and waited for her to approach him before leaning on her arm for support.
They reached the door together and she pushed it open. The storm had passed over completely now and they both stared up into a cloudless sky.
“Well thank the heavens for that at least,” Simmons said, looking up.
“Don’t count your chickens yet, Doc. We’re just under the eye of the storm. It’s half-time and the rest will soon be on its way.”
Together they headed for her car, a small compact VW Beetle that she’d had shipped over on the ferry by Bernard Hale, the harbour master. She’d loved her little car ever since she’d bought it while studying on the mainland, and when she’d moved home, she had been unable to part with it.
She helped him into the passenger seat before climbing in the other side.
“The station?” she asked.
“If she’s trying to raise the alarm, then yes, that’ll be my guess. The station’s got the best radio rig on the island; even the storm shouldn’t be a problem for it.”
Simmons backed the car out and turned it towards town. Caleb had had to duck his head slightly to fit inside. It was a tight fi
t but he didn’t care. Right now, his gut was telling him that Quinn was in trouble.
Simmons drove off towards town and had to go slowly. There was plenty of debris lying on the dirt track roads from the storm. Trees had been blown across in places and there were even some telegraph poles down. There was flooding in places and Simmons had to drive frustratingly slowly to avoid another casualty.
“Where is everyone”? Simmons asked as she peered out through the windscreen at the empty sight before her.
“Undercover, I’d guess,” Caleb replied, a little hopefully.
The thought of the marauding Niners unleashing an attack on the town had already occurred to him, but he was just praying the storm had driven them back, for now at least.
Simmons had to slow almost to a complete stop as part of the road had been washed away. She edged carefully around the hole, keeping the Beetle’s tyres gripping the road that was left behind.
Caleb was fidgeting in his seat, acutely aware of the passing time and unable to keep the worst thoughts from racing through his mind.
Finally, Simmons managed to navigate around the obstacle.
“Floor it, Doc,” Caleb ordered, turning to face her. But instead of speeding up, she came to a complete stop.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, but she merely pointed up the road instead of answering.
He followed her finger and saw a man standing up ahead in the middle of the road.
“Who is that?” she asked nervously.
Caleb didn’t recognise the man, but he certainly recognised the clothes the man wore: they were Niner in nature.
“What do I do?” Simmons asked him anxiously.
Caleb stared out at the man. He was of average build and wearing the long hooded robes of the Order, but the thing that drew his attention the most was the long, wicked-looking scythe that he held down by his side.
The man didn’t move and only stood rock still, blocking their path to town and, more importantly, Caleb’s path to Quinn.
“Floor it,” he finally whispered to the doc.
“I don’t know, Caleb. I don’t like this - any of it.”
