Town of Fire

by Rebecca Fernfield

  Sam grits his teeth. “Thanks for coming, Councillor.”

  “Bill’s spoken to you then?”

  Sam shifts and the roof buckles.

  “Get off my f- … Get your goddamned boots off my car!

  Sam looks down to his size eleven boots and the roof of Haydock’s year-old Mercedes Benz. “Sorry.” He’d expected to be chewed out by Haydock for hanging the bodies. It is a radical act, inhumane, disrespectful, grotesque. All of those words fit what he is doing, but it was typical of Haydock’s self-interest to be outraged more by a pair of boots putting a dent in his car’s roof than to take issue with a man hanging dead terrorists from a branch as if he were hanging the lights on the town’s Christmas tree. Sam snorts at the comparison. Perhaps he should have them lit up.

  “What’s so funny, Monroe?”

  “Nothing,” Sam replies and throws the second rope up. An engine starts in the distance. He pulls at the rope. “Do your bit, Chugger.”

  Chugger wraps the rope around the second man’s neck and together they hoist it into position. As they finish, the air is thrumming with the noise of engines. Unhindered by the noise of traffic, it carries high on the wind and vibrates along the wall of the blockade. “One more,” Sam says as he catches his breath. The second terrorist had been a short and scrawny bastard, but even if he didn’t weigh more than twelve stones, that was still a hefty weight to pull up. “Sod this!” Sam jumps down and kneels beside the third body. He pulls its arms and sits it upright then pushes his shoulder into the man’s abdomen. A belch of gas escapes from its belly as Sam flings it over his shoulder and he cringes.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Chuggers voice is laced with real fright. “What in God’s name was that?”

  “His last words.” Sam chuckles at his own joke.

  “Smells like he ate a bag of shit before he died.”

  The stench rises around Sam, it would be a stink that would cling to his hair and his clothes, one that only a hot bath and soap would rid him of. He determines then to throw the clothes away as he feels a cold patch spread across his lower back. He clambers up the ladder then throws the body onto the roof of the van, the feet of the hanging terrorists dangle above his slime-covered face. With quick movements, Sam ties the rope around his neck then gestures for Chugger to help. Together they hoist the man to join his companions in a final display of brotherhood.

  “Now that you’ve finished your bit of fun, we need to get down to the serious business of saving this town.”

  Sam’s smile drops as he turns to face Haydock. “Go on then. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “In my past life I was a medievalist.”

  “And?” Sam frowns. This was getting surreal. “What the bloody hell use is that?”

  “Well, I’m a military historian and I have some ideas that you may find useful.” Confidence oozes from the man. “Shall we talk?”

  It had been a massive mistake not to put this place out of action, but as she thinks back to the previous few days there just hadn’t been any opportunity to come back. Everything had moved so rapidly that the plane crash seemed to have become a distant memory, something that happened a lifetime ago. Guilt washes over her. She’s barely thought about Sarge since they’d left the city. His loss waves over her, tiredness eats at her resilience, and hopelessness tugs at her.

  The terrorists have regrouped and the petrol pumps are surrounded by vehicles in a protective circle patrolled by the men who are now gathering to peer at her. Uri lies on the verge, his face bloodied. He doesn’t move.

  Her captor laughs, squeezes her breast as he jabbers at the audience. They laugh in return.

  “Mine when you finish,” another shouts, the English for her benefit no doubt.

  Jessie doesn’t flinch at the touch to her breast or the crude taunts from the men.

  ‘Stand tall, Jessie.’ The voice, drops into her mind like a pebble. ‘Show no fear. They’re bullies and you know what we do to bullies.’ Yes, sarge.

  A younger man sidles close and reaches out to touch her breast, his hand tentative. For a second their eyes meet. Through his contempt she can see his greed, and his fear. She doubts he’s ever touched a woman before. In that second, as their eyes lock, Jessie offers him a smile. In the seconds that follow, his confusion at her response turns to pain. As his fingers brush her nipple, she swivels. Her captors caught off guard, the grip on her arms slips and she twists. Shooting a powerful kick, she catches the man’s jaw with her heavy boot. Teeth snap as the force smashes bottom jaw to top. He staggers back then falls to the tarmac. His head catches against the kerb where he twitches once then lies still. The butt of a rifle slams into her chest. The gun is raised and a shadow falls across her face as it swings towards her. An arm punches out and breaks its swing.

  “Keep her awake. Khaled wants her conscious.”

  Bill pulls Alex back to duck beneath the hedge. “Keep it together!” His voice is stern. He can’t let Alex’s emotions take control of his reasoning. “We’ll get her back.”

  “They’re touching her! I’m going to chop their fu-”

  “Calm it!” Bill grips Alex’s shoulder, forcing his down, keeping his eyes on the scene ahead.

  Uri had lain motionless until a minute ago. He lies in perfect stillness, checking his surroundings. Jessie squats against the wall of the shop guarded by two men, a younger man sits by her side, his face swollen, left eye closing. The forecourt is alive with movement as men, dressed in their regulation black terror uniforms, fill the cars and trucks with petrol. Bill turns the cigarette lighter over and over in his pocket. A jacket doused with petrol from the crashed car sits crumpled at his side. The crowded forecourt thins out as the men get into the vehicles and then the air hums with the roar of engines. The first van rolls off the forecourt as cars reverse and make their way to the exit. A figure that Bill recognises from the cells hobbles towards Jessie. She’s yanked to her feet and the van reverses. The cars leave in convoy.

  “They’re taking her!”

  Bill eyes the forecourt. Ten metres lie between him and the opening of the petrol tanks that sit beneath the pumps. He waits for the exact moment. Jessie walks over the metal hatch as she’s dragged to the back of the van. All the terrorists, apart from the young boy with swollen eyes, have their backs to him.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Bill lights the jacket, stands and jumps over the low hedge. Alex leaps across the hedge and heads straight for Jessie. Bill races past Uri, slams open the petrol tanks’ lid and pushes the jacket down into the hole. As he turns, the stench of petrol fills his nostrils. In his peripheral vision, Alex punches first one and then the other guard in the back of the head and grabs Jessie from their loosened grip. Together, Alex and Jessie sprint towards the hedge. Bill races to Uri. Already on his knees, he staggers with Bill to the hedge.

  The blast is enormous. The white van is catapulted into the air as Bill, Jessie, Uri, and Alex are thrown over the hedge.

  Bill lands with a thud and rolls down the embankment. His ears ring and every muscle in his body aches. A deep scratch runs down his arm but as the flames rise and another blast rocks the night, he’s relieved to see that Uri, Alex, and Jessie have fallen with him and are unhurt.

  The door vibrates beneath Sam’s knuckles as he taps. Light glows and a curtain twitches at the downstairs window. Someone shouts from deeper inside the house and then the door opens.

  Mad Dog scowls at him with bleary eyes. Shirtless, his broad shoulders give way to a well-defined torso, skin glints in Sam’s torchlight illuminating the red, orange, and black ink of his intricately tattooed biceps. He peers down at Sam, scowls, then pushes the door closed.

  Sam steps into the frame. The hard edge of the door bangs against his boot.

  “Get your bloody foot out!”

  “Jack-”

  Mad Dog peers over Sam’s shoulders to the group of men behind.

  “If you’ve come to arrest me, you can piss off.” He p
ushes at the door again squashing at Sam’s foot. He keeps it in place.

  “No. Jack—we need your help.”

  “I’ve helped enough. Now fu-”

  “They’re coming back. An army of them to wipe out the town.”

  The door opens. “Talk. I’m listening.”

  Dr. Priya Kohli straightens, pulling the stethoscope from the boy’s chest. “His breathing and temperature are normal, Mr Fairweather. Despite the incident, I think all he needs is a good sleep. Keep him warm with plenty of fluids and Calpol if he complains of any pain. His muscles are likely wrenched and no doubt he has a headache.” The doctor pushes the boy’s hair gently from his eye and Martha turns away as Heath flinches. “Just moving your hair from your eyes,” the doctor soothes. “Nothing to worry about.” She stands then places the stethoscope back in her bag. She pushes against the desk, weariness riding over her.

  “You look like you need some sleep yourself doctor.” Sidney cradles the boy in his arms.

  “I certainly do. Since the blackout I’ve had barely any sleep. I’ve been on call since it happened.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Martha adds. The woman looks done in, the skin beneath her eyes puffy and sallow, the red bindi overly bright between her brows. “It’s above and beyond, you coming here to check on our Heath.”

  “After what he’s been through I wanted to see him—just double check I hadn’t missed anything. It can be so difficult for children to tell us about their pain. In different circumstances I would have called for an ambulance.”

  Sidney lays the boy down and pulls the duvet to cover his tiny body. He whimpers but his eyes remain closed.

  “I’ll be going then. If there’s any change, just let me know.” The doctor turns and leaves. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  As the doctor steps out onto the landing, Sidney turns to Martha. “You’ll stay with Monica tonight, won’t you? She’ll need you once I’ve gone.”

  “I’ll stay until you get back.” Martha smiles and rests her hand on Sidney’s shoulder. Both look down on the boy as he sleeps.

  A knock at the front door. “Evening, Monica. Is he in?”

  “They’re here, Sid.”

  Sidney strokes his son’s arm. “Don’t you worry my boy. Daddy’s going to make sure no one’s going to hurt you, not ever again.”

  Sidney takes a final look at his son then goes downstairs, picks up his axe, and steps out into the night with Mad Dog.

  Chapter 26

  Colin Haydock addresses the gathered men and women, his chest puffed out with self-importance. “Although the attack on the town, and it seems across the country, was initially low key, from the reports we’ve had in, there are pockets of terrorists that are heavily armed.”

  “Michael managed to get in contact with a couple of people in the city. There were attempts at setting fires-”

  “We saw those.”

  “As well as small groups with firearms. Michael’s source says that the city is on lockdown.”

  “The military are involved?”

  “Not exactly. It seems the people were quick to react; imposed a curfew, set up a militia. They had the personnel though. Although there hasn’t been an official response a Colonel Bright and Sargeant Lennon took control. And remember, there’s a military base just ten miles outside the city. It’s a similar story over in Kexby. They’ve managed to repel the terrorists although there was no mention of gangs with firearms out that way.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Yes, and no.”

  “No?”

  “The terror cells may have been usurped but they’re still out there.”

  “Regrouping?”

  “I would think so.”

  “The ‘army’ in the communication Michael intercepted.”

  “Possibly. Bill’s information suggests that they’re using the intersection as a base.”

  “And they’re coming for us?”

  “We should prepare for that possibility.”

  Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “Where the hell is Bill?”

  “Still at the intersection.”

  Sam stares across the table to Colin Haydock. Sam was a fireman, not a tactician, not a strategist, not a military man. Sure, he was a problem solver, but this … “Right, Colin. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Shine the light on the map, Sheila.”

  Sheila doesn’t move.

  “For heaven’s sake woman … Please?”

  The light shines down on the map illuminating the blocks of housing, roads, intersections, parks, and artery roads of the town. Colin stabs at the map. “Here, here, here, and here are our weak points.”

  Sam stares down at the red lines that lead into the town; two are minor roads but the other two are wide entrances that connect the town to the main arterial roads leading to the motorway, that in turn connect to the intersection and the bridge. “We need to focus on the main entry points but we can’t neglect the smaller ones—they may be our Achilles’ heel.”

  “What about there?” Sheila asks pointing down to a small road that feeds traffic down from the roads.

  “It’s a single track, but it will give them unfettered access to the centre of town if they discover it.”

  “It’s not well used.”

  “They already know about it. It’s the route they took after their escape from the cells. It goes up past Sarah’s house.”

  “Gabe and Sarah are on watch. The land is on a hill so they’ve got a good view of the roads from their upstairs rooms.”

  “If they’re heavily armed, what chance have we got?”

  “We beat them back before. We can do it again.”

  “Sure, but before we caught them unawares—we had the element of surprise. This time they’re coming with an army.”

  “We’ve got the upper hand.”

  “How do you figure that out? If they’re armed to the teeth it’ll be a slaughter.”

  “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Pass me a pen.” Colin holds out his hand. “Sheila, the pen … please.”

  Sheila stabs the pen at him, catching the back of his hand leaving a line of blue ink across the skin.

  He takes it without comment then nudges Sam out of the way and leans into the map.

  Sarah stares out of her bedroom window as grey light begins to fill the room. Unable to sleep, she has moved from room to room through the night, keeping candles lit behind closed curtains. Checking then re-checking that the doors were locked. A chest of drawers now sits against the front door and a kitchen chair sits beneath the handle of the locked side door. She moves again to Amy’s room and checks on her. Silently stepping across the carpet, she stares down at her, holds the candle close enough to see her sleeping face, but not too close to wake the child, and breathes a sigh of relief that barely touches at the tension wrapped tight across her chest. Moving silently across the floor to her son’s bedroom, she stops. The noise of engines catches her attention. Apart from the car Uri had driven to the house in his search for Bill and Jessie, and the few that Sam and the protectors were using, no other cars were operational. Now, the noise buzzed like a horde of angry wasps. She strides to her own bedroom window with its view across the higher parts of the carriageway and sees them. Both lanes are taken up as a group of cars move over the hill.

  She pushes at Gabe’s shoulder as deep pain fills her chest. “Gabe! Wake up. They’re here.” He’s awake in an instant, throws off the cover, checks through the window then gallops downstairs. As Sarah joins him in the kitchen, the radio’s receiver crackles in his hand. “Firestorm this is Gabe. The Barbarians are on the approach. I repeat. The Barbarians are on the approach.”

  The last bale of hay is thrown off the trailer as Mad Dog pulls himself up to the next strut of the crane’s arm. The metal is cool beneath his fingers. He pulls again. From his vantage point, high up on the crane’s arm, he can see beyond the trees that line the slip road to t
he dual carriageway. A block of light fills one side of the carriageway and, as he continues to watch, it moves along the road towards the town.

  “Mad Dog to Sam. Over.”

  “Go ahead Mad Dog.”

  “Barbarians on the carriageway. Three miles from town.”

  “Received. Over.”

  Mad Dog continues to watch the convoy’s progress. A section of lights splits off from the main body and takes a smaller slip road. It curves then moves over the carriageway.

  “Mad Dog to Sam. Over.”

  “Go ahead Mad Dog.”

  “Barbarians have divided. First group continues along the carriageway. Second group has split off on the B1230 and heading your way.”

  “Received. Over.”

  The crane’s engine grunts into the life. The vibration of its engine hums through the massive arm and, as Mad Dog begins his descent, it swings.

  “Hey!” The arm continues to move. “Hey!” Mad Dog clambers down the arm. “Jesus, Chugger. What the hell?”

  Chugger laughs.

  “Bloody psycho!”

  “Get off then. I’ve got me orders to get this monster in place.”

  From the massive tyre, Mad Dog drops to the ground, and moves across to the group of men standing beneath the enormous silo sat close the entrance of the building site.

  “Is it ready?” Mad Dog shouts above the noise of the generator.

  “Ready as it’ll ever be.”

  Mad Dog slaps his hand against Jason’s shoulder and walks back to the road. A woman grunts as she pulls at a bale of hay.

  “Let me help you.” Mad Dog steps forward without waiting for a response, slips his fingers beneath the tight cord around the bale, heaves, and raises it high enough to slide on top of the growing wall. The stench of fuel is thick in the air.

  Mad Dog pushes his hand through his hair then scratches at his beard. His scalp is damp and sweat stains his shirt. The past few hours have been extraordinary. Planning a course of action with Sam and Haydock – who knew the man was a military genius? – had been exciting, but the hours that followed, getting everything that was needed into place, had been arduous. There were four points of entry that had to be defended, but here, the main entrance to the town, was his responsibility. A gleam flickers in his eyes and he can’t help a smile creep to his face as he surveys the area for a final time before the lights were shut off. Ten metres down the road was the barricade of cars and vans that Sam and the others had used to block the road after the initial attack. Behind that are groups of Mad Dog’s men, Sam’s Protectors and other men and women who have volunteered to fight. Dangling from the massive bough that creeps over the road are the bodies hung there by Sam. Mad Dog shudders. The way they moved, their dead and sunken eyes staring blindly into the night, gave him the creeps.