Luke's Trek

by Scott Medbury

  “No, it’s too dangerous.”

  “What?! Please Diana. Luke said…”

  Before she could answer, Luke took her by the elbow and led her away from the group.

  “Sorry I didn’t clear it with you before. But we need this. At best we’re going to have 24 hours start on the Brotherhood. With their truck they’ll catch us before we get anywhere near Manchester. I want to send Jacob on ahead, so he can get us back up. Isaac will come, I know he will.”

  Diana looked unsure.

  “Look,” said Luke. “It’s a long shot, but we have to try it. Otherwise we may as well just stay here.”

  “Fine,” she said, still not happy but understanding the need. She went over to Jacob. “Have you got water?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, and patted the hessian bag on his handlebar. “And bread. I’ll be fine. Can I go?”

  Diana put her arm around him and kissed his cheek. The kid blushed.

  “Go on. Ride as fast as you can, but be careful and rest when you need to, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Di,” he said, looking the happiest she’d seen him since Tommy had died.

  “Okay, kid. Go! Remember it’s a marathon, not a sprint, and don’t lose the map.”

  Jacob gave a wave and took off like a rocket.

  “A road bike would have been better,” said Luke, as they watched him ride off. “But it’ll do the trick.”

  Diana looked worried as he disappeared through the gate at the end of the road.

  Luke put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Does he know where to go?”

  “Yep, I showed him the exact roads we’ll be taking. He’ll be fine.”

  He wished he was as certain of that as he tried to sound.

  Ten minutes after Jacob had cycled away, Diana did a rough head count as Luke lifted the three kids under the age of five onto the laden carts. They squealed in delight as their mothers clucked and worried beside the carts.

  “Okay, that’s everyone,” said Cathy, coming up beside her.

  Diana turned to the column of thirty-four souls that were her people.

  “Let’s roll!” she called and grabbed the reins of the horse she would be leading and gave it a gentle tug. Samuel sat upon it bareback, carrying the shotgun. The Glock was in Diana’s belt and she had spare shells for the shotgun in her jacket pockets.

  Two guns. One handgun and one shotgun. He wondered how many they would face if… when the Brotherhood caught them.

  Luke grabbed the other horse’s rope and clicked his tongue.

  The people of Willatan Green set off for their new life with the sun high overhead.

  29

  The two guards on duty on the steps of the Brotherhood’s headquarters gripped their staffs and came forward as a limping figure approached along what used to be known as Congress Street.

  In its previous life, the impressive building had been City Hall. Now it was the center of the Brotherhood’s world.

  “Senior Brother Jarryd!”

  There could be no doubt it was the Senior Brother, his hawkish features were unmistakable, even with his face covered in blood.

  Jarryd held out a weak hand, then promptly fell to the ground.

  The guards rushed forward to help the injured man to his feet.

  “Bless you, Brothers,” he said weakly as they each put a shoulder under his arms and walked him up the steps and into the main hall.

  Jarryd let his head slump, pleased his ruse had worked. A self-inflicted cut on the scalp and some method acting was all it took and Jarryd, the wounded warrior monk, had returned.

  The two guards called for help and soon there was a gaggle of clucking Brothers around him.

  “Let him breathe!” called a Senior Brother, pushing through and followed by a fresh-faced novice. The others scattered, lest they be knocked aside by the sheer girth of Senior Brother Rex. He knelt next to Jarryd with an agility that belied his size and lifted Jarryd’s chin with his rough fingers.

  “Jarryd, what happened?”

  Jarryd kept up his act. He knew it needed to be good to fool Rex. Undisciplined with his eating he might be, but the big man was dangerously smart.

  Breathlessly, Jarryd told of the unprovoked attack by the people of Willatan Green and the red-haired outlaw.

  “All dead?”

  Jarryd nodded, allowing tears to spring to his eyes.

  “I barely escaped with my life, but not before staving a head or two. Brother Taylor fought bravely to the end, imploring me to save myself and bring God’s justice down upon the people of that town. It was his stand that allowed me to escape… ”

  He made the sign of the cross on his chest and the men around him did the same.

  “This was the same redheaded heathen that caused so much trouble in Old Orchard Beach?” asked Senior Brother Rex.

  “The very same,” said Jarryd, holding up his hand with his index finger curled. “Hook hand and all.”

  Rex nodded.

  “Take Brother Jarryd to his quarters, wash and tend to his wounds. I must speak to the Council. Ring the bell, Dennis.”

  The wide-eyed young novice who had followed Brother Rex into the hall ran off and tugged a rope by the door.

  The bell pealed three times, then the novice turned around and hurried after his master.

  ***

  Jarryd sat on the hard bench with the other Senior Brothers. He’d let Rex take the lead on telling his story, preferring to sit quietly, ever the stoic. He couldn’t have pulled off the story as theatrically as the bigger man anyway. The faces of the three bishops on the council were equal parts rapt and outraged as Senior Brother Rex told them of the disastrous mission to Willatan Green as passed onto him by Jarryd.

  “I’m sure you’ll agree this outrage must be met on the strongest terms, my good Sirs,” he ended.

  The three bishops, all dressed in white habits to set them apart from their brethren, put their heads together and conferred. Jarryd watched them, thoughtful. These three men governed the church as a triumvirate. Their terms were three years with one bishop retiring and replaced each year so there were always two experienced men on the council. Cranston’s tenure would expire on Christmas day later that very year.

  The Council members were elected from their own number by the twenty Senior Brothers, and Jarryd planned to put his own name forward in the next ballot. ‘Bishop’ Jarryd had a nice ring to it, and he planned to make the most of the opportunity if it came to him.

  Unfortunately, his chief rival would be the popular Senior Brother Rex.

  After less than a minute, the middle bishop, Cranston, stood up. Being the longest serving member, Cranston was the spokesperson for the three. Jarryd hadn’t voted for him three years before when he was new to the black robe himself, but the man seemed competent enough.

  “Senior Brother Rex. We on the Council agree. Swift justice will be meted to these murderous ingrates. You will lead the attack party.”

  Jarryd’s jaw tightened. He had been expecting to lead the attack party. A successful mission would only be another feather in Rex’s cap. He nearly interrupted but decided it was smarter to let Cranston finish.

  “Take the truck, and twenty of our best men first thing in the morning. Leave none alive but the redheaded barbarian. He is to be brought back here and crucified in the town square of Old Orchard Beach. A lesson to those who helped him escape.”

  There were small gasps from the men around him.

  A crucifixion? There hadn’t been one in years. Jarryd had planned to deal with the Captain Hook himself, but it would be just as satisfying watching the bastard nailed to a cross. Besides, he had other fish to fry. Fish much bigger and closer to home.

  “Yes, Bishop Cranston,” said Rex, smoothly. “It shall be done. Guns?”

  The bishop pursed his lips.

  “Of course,” he said and quickly conferred with the other bishops. “You may take four automatics.”

  The other bishops stood
, indicating the meeting was at an end, and the Senior Brothers around Jarryd also began to stand.

  “Pardon, if I may?” he called, pushing up next to Rex.

  The bishops paused and looked around.

  “Yes, Senior Brother?” asked Cranston.

  “I’d like to go along, if you will it? I have some unfinished business with these people.”

  Cranston’s eyes locked onto his then glanced at the bandage on his head.

  “Are you not feeling the ill-effects of your last encounter?”

  “It is but a scalp wound, Sir. I will be fine after a night’s rest.”

  “Senior Brother Rex?”

  “I have no objections, Sir.”

  “Very well then. But Rex is in command, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Jarryd, seething that Cranston had spoken to him in such a way in front of the other Senior Brothers.

  We’ll see about that.

  30

  Luke had advised Jacob to ride until just before sunset and then find a house to sleep in. He didn’t say anything to Luke, but the thought of sleeping in an old abandoned house freaked him out. Besides, it was a reasonably balmy night, so he decided to stop and bed down in the trees beside a heavily wooded part of the 202 instead.

  His thighs felt heavy as he climbed off the bike and wheeled it into the trees. He pulled out his map and had some bread and the last of his water as he examined it. Just over the next rise he would cross the border into New Hampshire and then hit the outer suburbs of East Rochester not long after.

  He would leave at first light and skirt the city as per Luke’s instructions, then turn onto the 125. Just past a town called Epping, he would take a turn onto the 101 which would lead him all the way into Manchester. He estimated it would take him about two hours to ride from Rochester to Epping, then another hour and a bit to get to the outskirts of Manchester. That would put him there before midday.

  He folded the map and put it away as dusk fell. He was asleep within minutes.

  ***

  The rest of the group only made it half the distance Jacob did before Luke and Diana called them to a halt. There were whispers and sighs of relief right along the column.

  They veered off the 202 a little way and found a large two-story house to spend the night in. Luke had his doubts they would all fit comfortably, but most were so exhausted it wouldn’t matter as long as they had enough floor space to lay down.

  Over a firepit in the backyard, Diana and Cathy cooked a big pot of oats with blueberries that the kids had picked along the way mixed in. It was served with day-old bread. Not exactly restaurant fare, but no one left a crumb on their plates.

  Diana called curfew about an hour after sunset. No one grumbled. Not even the older kids. Most bedded down for the night in the big living room and front hallway.

  “Do you want the last bed, Luke?” Diana asked.

  Three of the four beds in the house had been loaded with the smallest children and their mothers and there was one left. A single in the only downstairs bedroom.

  “No, you and Samuel take it,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll sleep by the front door.”

  A few minutes later after checking the locks on all the doors, Luke went to the front door and lowered himself onto the floor. He took off his leather jacket and used it as a pillow. He was willing to sacrifice warmth for a tiny bit of comfort.

  They ate the last of the bread, cooked oats and some more berries for breakfast. Luke was anxious to get back on the road and hurried everybody out of the house while some were still eating.

  He knew every minute counted now. The chances were high that the Brotherhood would catch them, the only question was, would it be before or after Isaac and the rest found them? He didn’t allow himself to consider that Jacob might fail in his mission.

  That didn’t bear thinking about.

  They rejoined the Carl Brogg Highway 202 and began the next leg of their journey. The 202 would take them to Rochester, New Hampshire well before midday if they made good time.

  Luke’s anxious mood matched the day. A floating blanket of mist covered the tops of the fall-colored trees that lined the highway, lending the morning a foreboding feel.

  “Let’s pick it up,” he called, and tugged the reins of the horse he was leading a little harder.

  31

  “It’s just over that hill,” said Senior Brother Jarryd, leaning forward.

  He sat next to the passenger side window in the cab of the Mac truck. Next to him was Senior Brother Rex and in the driver’s seat, a younger member of their order, Brother Michael.

  “Very good, hit the music Brother Michael. Let them know we’re coming for them.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Michael, a solid young man of 22. He reached up and flicked a small switch on the ceiling of the cab.

  The first bars of Flight of the Valkyrie always made the hairs on Jarryd’s neck stand up. This occasion was no different. The music blared from the purpose-built bullhorn speakers welded to the top of the prime mover.

  “There!” Jarryd called as the sign to Willatan Green came into view.

  Michael slowed, then turned the semi-trailer onto the small road. Now on the straight, he pressed the gas hard and the Mac picked up speed. They barreled down the hill and through the small copse of trees that grew thick on either side of the road and burst out the other side in a whirlwind of leaves.

  The rig was quite a sight. The cab was all white, with Gold crosses embossed on the doors and a golden crucifix 12 inches high on the hood where the famous Mac bulldog should have been. The curtain sides of the trailer were also white with CHRIST’S CHARIOT painted in big, red letters down the side.

  Jarryd’s fingers gripped the dashboard as the walls of the town came into view.

  Time to make these bastards pay.

  “Stop the truck,” ordered Rex over the loud Wagner composition.

  Brother Michael, who was already slowing the vehicle, brought it to complete stop, fifty feet from the open gates, and switched the engine off. There was no movement beyond the gates, but for now, their attention was taken by the four bodies strewn on either side of the opening anyway.

  Rex’s mouth tightened as he silently weighed up what he was seeing.

  “We’ll get out here.”

  “We need to be careful of a trap,” said Jarryd.

  “If you’d taken more care on your earlier visit perhaps we wouldn’t need to,” said Rex.

  This time it was Jarryd’s mouth that tightened. He swallowed his anger and climbed out of the cab. Rex followed him and when he was on the ground, turned back to Brother Michael.

  “Stay behind the wheel. And turn that infernal music off! They’re clearly not here.”

  The music ceased, and Rex stalked to the back of the truck. Jarryd followed.

  “We can’t be sure…” he said.

  “No, we can’t,’ interrupted Rex as he turned the lever of the roller door and pulled it up with a clatter. The 20 men sitting on the long benches inside blinked in the sudden light. “So, we’ll send in the gunmen to confirm while the rest of us start digging graves.”

  The brothers piled out and Rex instructed the four armed with assault rifles to carefully scour the town. Almost certainly the people of Willatan Green had fled, it was the only sensible thing to do. Best to be sure, though.

  An hour later, four freshly dug graves were filled in, each plot of turned soil marked with a plain white cross of wood.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” Rex asked Jarryd, his tone hard to read.

  Jarryd nodded and stepped forward. He said a short prayer over each of the four graves as the Brothers echoed him. He turned to Rex when he was done.

  The other man nodded, his face expressionless.

  “Let us have a quick look at this town before we track these heathens.”

  The town was empty. The horses and carts brought by Jarryd and his men go
ne. Their tracker, Brother Simon, dug around the ashes with his right hand, then stood up.

  “Cold. I’d say they have close to twenty-four hours start on us.”

  He walked along the dust-covered roadway to the gates and spent five minutes examining the footprints and marks.

  “At least thirty, along with two horses, and these marks here are the tire marks of the trailers.”

  Brother Simon followed the trail out through the gates and Jarryd turned to tail him but was pulled to a stop when Rex grabbed his wrist in a claw like grip.

  “A word, Brother Jarryd?”

  Jarryd secretly seethed at Rex’s dropping of ‘Senior’, but looked at him coolly.

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder why there were only four bodies?”

  Jarryd’s stomach did a somersault.

  “I was wondering that myself,” he said with a confused look.

  “Where on Earth could Brother Taylor’s body be?”

  “I don’t know, Senior Brother,” he said, holding Rex’s hawk-like gaze. “All I know is I saw the big man open his throat with that damned hook of his. From the amount of blood, there’s no way he could have survived.”

  Jarryd shook his head and looked heavenward, apparently overcome with emotion. One hand held his staff, while the other slipped unnoticed into his pocket and gripped his knife.

  Senior Brother Rex watched him for a few seconds more, his face inscrutable, then turned and began walking.

  “Yes, it certainly is a mystery. Perhaps we’ll solve it together, hey?”

  Jarryd followed him, sorely tempted to show the fat bastard exactly what had happened to Brother Taylor.

  Brother Simon was walking up the hill and through the copse by the time they reached the truck. The men were already back in the trailer and the two Senior Brothers climbed into the cab beside Brother Michael.

  Michael started the truck and turned it in a wide circle before following Brother Simon all the way back to the 202. Simon paused for a moment, looking at the ground and dust beside the road before pointing west as they pulled up beside him.

  “They’ve gone this way,” he said.

  “Brother Michael, I’ll take over the driving. You take Brother Simon’s place in the rear. I need him up here.”