by Matt Drabble
“Sorry.” Tommy shrugged. “He never came in.”
“Hey, Sam. What really happened out there?” Casey asked him directly. “I mean, enough of this bullshit about murdering monks. Tell me the truth.”
Sam only looked at them with a vacant expression as he thought about accidentally killing a man, one of them, words that he could never say out loud.
“It all went to hell,” he finally responded. “Where’s Caleb? Or Clayton for that matter?”
“Not come in yet,” Tommy answered.
Sam turned away and went back to pacing up and down the shelter, lost in his own thoughts.
“I’m starting to get a real bad feeling here,” Tommy admitted to Casey in a whisper. “First old Taylor goes missing, then Ieuan; Dale says that someone killed his father, and Bernard’s not the only one who should be here but isn’t.”
“So what are you saying?” Casey demanded in her usual impatient tone.
“Honestly? I don’t know, but I don’t like it, Casey. I don’t like any of it.”
Suddenly, there was a large banging on the shelter door and everyone in the room seemed to jump at the sudden sound. Heads turned to one another but no one started to move and only waited for someone else to do something.
The angry fist struck the metal doors again, sending an echoing clang into the large space.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Casey finally muttered and crossed the basement quickly.
She felt the nervousness in the room as she opened the door and even felt a little herself, not that she would ever admit it. In a defiant gesture, she flung the door open wide and was greeted with five new faces and not a murderous monk in sight.
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Caleb, Quinn, Doc Simmons, Dale and the newcomer – Haynes - all poured in through the opening as the increasing winds threatened to rip the door out of her hands.
“Get in, get in!” she yelled and Caleb helped her slam the door shut again.
“Is this it?” Caleb asked as he did a quick head count of the room.
“Those of us not murdered by the Niners,” Casey joked, but the levity died quickly on her face when the constable shot her a hard glance.
“You’re... you’re not serious?” she asked, but he didn’t have to answer: the look on his face said it all.
“We need to lock those doors,” Caleb ordered. “And let’s drag some of the heavy furniture across them as well.
“Right after I leave,” Quinn said, returning to the doors after a quick tour of the room.
“What?” Caleb exclaimed.
“Luther’s not here.”
“Your father?”
“He’s not here, Caleb. I have to go check on him. I have to.”
“Jesus, Quinn. We only just got here in one piece and now you want to go back out there?”
She could only shrug helplessly.
“Shit..., alright then. Casey, after we’re gone, barricade these doors, okay?” Caleb instructed.
“We?” Quinn asked.
“Last time you left, I didn’t see you again for almost 30 years, so screw it, let’s get going while we still can.”
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Gwendolyn only just made it to the bathroom before she found herself dry retching over the sink. She tried to do it as quietly as possible so as not to wake Torvan, but it was hard.
She had lain with him in order to win his trust, and while the Order was her main priority, it didn’t make her task any easier. She was not a virgin, but she was a long way from being experienced in the ways of love between a man and a woman; she was just grateful that Torvan was even less experienced than she was.
The giant man had fallen on top of her and threatened to crush her under his bulk, but his squirming had been mercifully brief before he’d quickly rolled off, spent. The whole time she had kept the notion of her duty above herself and the fact that the future of the Order relied upon her.
She placed her hands on the sink and tried to stem the raging waves of nausea coursing through her veins. She was sure that no one outside of Torvan’s private inner circle knew what the man was really capable of, but she did. She was sure that he’d killed Solomon and she was doubly sure that his power would be challenged by the Order if they ever found out; she just had to find a way to make that happen.
He had spoken briefly to her about his plans but without much detail. Most of his words had been self-aggrandising, lots of talk about the Nine Gods and their words bestowed upon only him, but she had learnt that he’d sent several of his warriors into town to continue the battle.
Her heart had sunk at his intentions and she couldn’t believe that the gods she followed would sanction such bloodshed in their names, but Torvan was too far gone now. He seemed to believe that blood was demanded, and he was more than willing to deliver.
She still couldn’t quite understand the change in him. Torvan had always been a troubled soul, quick to anger with a troubling violent streak that ran through him, but this was a whole new level of scary.
He had now surrounded himself with those seemingly of similar intent and had drawn them closer and bonded them all in blood. This was not the Order that she had grown up in, that her family had served for generations: this was a perversion of their ideals and it was tasked upon her to bring them back to the right path before Torvan buried them all. She just had no idea how to do that.
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Quinn drove while Caleb rode shotgun, the bandaged wound in his back stopping him from driving.
With the storm upon them again, it made driving difficult, but she wasn’t for stopping now, not for anything.
The SUV’s large wheels were coping with the flooded tracks for now, but as she headed out onto the woodland trail, the vehicle started to slip and slide ominously.
“We should have stopped at Ieuan’s place and grabbed a couple of weapons,” she said with regret. “A couple of shotguns would do the trick about now.”
“Sorry,” Caleb answered back. “I should have thought of it. You want to go back?”
“No time.”
“Was it just me or was there an odd vibe back there?”
“Where? The shelter?”
“Yes, there was a kind of..., I don’t know, bad feeling in there, a weird smell in the air.”
Caleb thought about the question before answering.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “I suppose that people are scared.”
“But it was more anger, I think.”
“Well that’s understandable too.”
“What if they start planning something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed heavily. “But Dale Clayton is acting weird - well, weirder - and for some reason, for the first time, people are starting to listen to him.”
“You want to go back?”
“I... I have to check on my father,” she said, aware that she had said have to instead of want to.
“You sure you want to risk this?” Caleb asked, his voice rising to almost a shriek at the end of the sentence as the car was hit on one side by a powerful gust that skidded it sideways.
“He’s a shitty father, a worse husband, but he’s blood. I can’t change that, no matter how much I might want to.”
They reached the Quinn family cabin quickly and she had to fight hard to keep the flood of memories from overwhelming her; there simply wasn’t time for any of that now.
It was already dark and visibility was practically zero between the dying light and the storm.
“Wait!” Caleb yelled and grabbed her arm as they climbed out of the car. “We go together,” he instructed her firmly.
He used his height and weight to shield her as best he could as they staggered up to the front door of the cabin. The place had taken a pounding from the extreme weather but it was still standing, just about.
Together, they got to the door and pushed it open, all the while fighting the brutal wind before falling inside.
“LUTHE
R!” Quinn yelled out.
Someone moved in the kitchen area but she couldn’t see who it was as there was no light inside.
“Luther?” she asked, moving closer, but it was Cooper Fox who stepped forwards.
“Easy now,” Cooper said as he saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here? And where’s my father?” she demanded.
“Hey, the place was empty when I got here. I was just looking to get out of the storm and away from those crazy bastards. Did you see what they did?”
“Yeah,” Caleb snarled. “I also saw what you were trying to do. How’d that work out?”
“Not my fault,” Cooper replied quickly with his hands held up in mock surrender.
“Never is, is it?” Caleb snapped as he crossed the room, and Cooper flinched away from him. “People like you cause all the problems and then just want to walk away.”
“Hey, I didn’t kill anyone.”
“No, you just got them killed.”
“Where’s my father?” Quinn insisted.
“Look, I told you. He wasn’t here,” Cooper repeated. “The place was empty when I got here.”
“Did you check everywhere?”
“Look, lady, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“How about a little humanity?” Quinn replied exasperatedly. “He could be hurt around here somewhere!”
She and Caleb quickly checked all the rooms in the cabin while Cooper stood still. “See?” he said when they’d finished.
“There’s a shed out back,” Quinn said to Caleb. “We should check out there.”
She moved to the back door and saw that it was hanging awkwardly. There were nail heads protruding inside and thin trickles of something dry and dark that had run down the holes.
“You break in here?” she asked, turning back to Cooper.
“Nope, I came in the front like you both did.”
She tried the door but it wouldn’t budge. Caleb joined her but couldn’t make it move even with his impressive strength.
“What’s that?” she asked him, pointing at the nails and dried substance.
“Maybe your father had to nail it shut from the outside,” Caleb suggested, but his voice sounded as troubled as hers.
“I don’t like this,” she said quietly. “Open it... Please.”
Instead, Caleb immediately headed back out the front door and ran around the building. The wind was blowing hard but he moved quickly, not wanting to give Quinn time enough to follow him.
He found Luther Quinn nailed to the back door. His body was peppered with nails. There must have been hundreds of them covering the back of his body and sticking out like hedgehog needles from every inch of spare skin.
Caleb turned back around, his main concern now being that Quinn didn’t see her father like this, but she was already there.
He opened his mouth to say something but he had no idea what.
Cooper had followed them out into the storm to see what was happening, and Quinn now turned to him without saying anything.
Cooper just had enough time for his eyes to bulge at the sight, but by then, Quinn had already launched herself at him.
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CHAPTER 17
Looking in the mirror
Those gathered in the basement shelter underneath Casey’s Bar were huddled together for comfort because, whether they wanted to show it or not, they were scared.
The constable’s brief visit had shaken them badly, and suddenly, all of the worst rumours they’d been considering were now taken as fact. Worst of all, they were stuck down here while the storm raged overhead, unable to venture out and discover the truth for themselves. As a result, as far as common consensus was concerned, the world above was now ruled by the Niners who were raping and pillaging their way across the island, leaving no one alive.
Casey was trying to avoid falling into the same pit of fear that the others seemed to share, but it wasn’t easy.
She was a tough woman who’d survived everything that island life had thrown at her without breaking a sweat, but now she was starting to feel her age.
At somewhere in her early sixties, or at least so she estimated - she had given up on counting birthdays a long time ago, she was one of the elder statesmen in the shelter, but she had no intention of leading. That position was filled with the likes of Pearl Christian, a woman of similar age but of infinitely more ambition.
Casey was an islander and she’d die one. Island life offered the sort of independent life that mainlanders could never understand, no more than she could understand their need for conformity and compliance.
This bar was her home, her business and her baby. There was no way that she was going to allow it to be taken from her, not by anyone.
Pearl was over in the corner with a growing clan of increasingly eager listeners. Even Tommy O’Brien seemed to be buying into whatever she was selling and he had at least half a brain which was more than most of them.
“I don’t like any of this,” Doc Simmons said quietly as she sidled up.
“You and me both, Doc,” Casey admitted. “What did you see up there?”
Simmons went quiet, and instantly, Casey knew that it must have been something bad. Caleb had blown in and out without the time to relay any vital information about what was going on up there, but the doc had obviously seen something she didn’t want to talk about.
“Are we really under attack?” she pressed in a whisper.
“I... I only saw one of them, but he looked like one of the monks, at least I think he did... I don’t know, Casey. What with the storm and everything, it’s hard to even think straight at the minute. The only thing I know for sure is that I want to get off this island.”
It was that last statement that troubled Casey more than any other. The doc was a straight shooter and nothing much seemed to phase her, but if she was worried enough to leave, then things had to be bad.
As a result of their brief conversation, Casey started to try and remember where she had left her shotgun and prayed that it was down here somewhere.
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Haynes was having a hard time understanding just what the hell was going on. He’d come to the island to wrap up a land development deal, and here he was, hiding in a basement while there was murder afoot up above.
Yes he’d pushed and pulled a little, greased a wheel or two and pushed a couple of dominoes over, but this wasn’t what he’d wanted, especially when none of this was getting him the land he desired.
He supposed that he had some blood on his hands, but in truth, that didn’t bother him much; it was more the failure that hurt.
The storm had cut them off from the mainland, and some nutter had destroyed the radio, isolating them further. He supposed that the land would be available one way or the other once the dust settled, but he wasn’t sure that he’d get it now or - even if he did - just what that weasel Clayton would want for it.
Speaking of Clayton, the man was truly creeping him out now. Sat apart from the rest of them, he seemed to be having a conversation with himself. Talking to yourself wasn’t such a bad thing; it was when you started answering that the men in white coats came calling.
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Dale watched the others scuttling around like trapped rats in a maze. Their movements made him smile now rather than trouble him. Pearl Christian was trying to hold court and he let her. They would all learn soon enough that there was only one real leader down here.
“Funny little things, aren’t they?” his father said, leaning against a wooden beam next to him. “All scurrying around, vying for the throne. None of them know what it takes, do they, Son?”
“None of them,” Dale agreed with his imaginary father.
“The real question is do you?”
“I think I’ve proved myself. You’d testify to that, or at least you would if you weren’t dead.”
“Touché.”
“Let them have their moments. That o
ld bitch Pearl Christian will soon come running for my help when the shit hits the fan.”
“And what about our fair constable?”
“He may have their respect, but he doesn’t have the brains to run a bath, let alone a whole town.” Dale snorted but then several people turned towards him, and he had to remind himself that to the outside world, he’d just look like he was talking to himself.
In reality, he supposed that was true. His father was dead - dead by his hand - but in death, the old bastard was of far more use to him than he’d ever been alive.
Right now, the only problem that he could see with his plan to rid the island of the Niners was that it had worked too well. Once the storm had passed and they were able to contact the mainland, then the Niners were toast. He’d have liked to have escorted them out personally, but now he’d need help from outside sources. But no matter who arrived to take out the trash, he’d be the one left standing and - more importantly - ruling.
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Everyone in the shelter was deeply involved in conversation or thought; even those talking were doing so in hushed conspiratory whispers.
“What was that?” Casey asked, looking up from her conversation with Simmons. “Hey, shut up, you idiots!” she shouted at the spread out group.
She walked along the outer wall of the shelter, leaning against the concrete surface and listening intently.
“O’Brien, so help me God,” she hissed as the man started to talk again.
“You know you’re not here to give orders,” Pearl Christian smirked. “In fact, as a bartender, aren’t you here to take them?” she asked to a small round of chuckles from her fans.
“That’s funny, Pearl.” Casey smiled back. “But right now, you’re standing in my shelter, so how about I throw your ass back outside and you can wait in the storm?”
Pearl blinked first but Casey was more concerned in what had tickled her ears than the cafe owner. Something was moving around outside. Something or someone was creeping around the shelter, maybe looking for a way in.
“What is it?” Simmons asked Casey as she followed her around the room, but Casey didn’t waste time answering.
Now the noises were louder outside and people were starting to hear it. Several of them moved away from the walls, backing themselves into the far corner of the basement.
