The town, on Colin’s insistence, was on lockdown. A curfew that, he said, would keep the people safe, and make sure, if it came to the worst, they could pick off the terrorists with ease. Mad Dog had laughed at that. Ease! There would be nothing easy about catching terrorists in the town if they managed to break through the defences.
Colin had said that the best form of defence was offence then started a spiel about the Saxon Heptarchy and Offrid. Mad Dog had zoned out in confusion - shunted back to an overheated classroom, an image of Haydock pulling at the too-high window with his metal hook, and then scratching at the blackboard - until the mention of longbows, archers, and ‘defeat of the French’. After that, he’d listened intently as Colin sketched out his plan for what he called the ‘first phase’ of their defence and enlisted the help of five ‘runners’ to knock on the doors of each member of the local archery club.
The cars sit across the carriageway. To the left is the exit ramp to the town. Khaled waits as the others join him then opens the boot of the car. It is wide and deep, and filled with bags. He pulls at the first bag, strains to haul it over the lip of the boot, then drops it gently to the ground. Crouching to unzip the long bag, he reaches in and pulls out a rifle and hands it to Hassan. In the next minutes each man is armed with a newly cleaned and loaded rifle. The hours to come would be a blood bath and the blood would not be theirs.
Chapter 27
“Lights out!”
Trees cast dense shadows across the road as the solar lamps that have illuminated the space are switched off. Using his torch to the light way, making sure to keep it pointing at the ground, Mad Dog makes his way towards Haydock. The bough, with its heavy burden, creaks. Behind the blockade, groups of men and women congregate in small groups, some crouching, others standing as they work. Each one is armed with a bow. At regular intervals along the barricade are buckets and, propped against the cars, or strung across the archers’ shoulders, quivers holding long bows. As Mad Dog passes, the smell of fuel intensifies and the glint of liquid catches on the moon’s light. The tip of an arrow, wrapped in fabric swings out at him.
“Sorry, mate!”
The archer swings the arrow away from Mad Dog and dips it into the bucket.
“No problem.”
Haydock is surrounded by another group of archers, these with bows that look mechanical and futuristic, another holds a crossbow.
“Ah, Jack. This is Muriel Steinberg. She was county champion in eighty-six.”
Muriel holds out a hand. Greying curls, held back by a greyed-out paisley bandana, bob against her shoulder. “Pleasure.”
The cashier from Barclays bank! Today was full of surprises.
“She’s the finest shot we have. We’ll show them a thing or two, ey, Muriel?”
“We certainly will, Colin.” She speaks with deadly seriousness. “Those bastards have got it coming.”
Mad Dog nods, unable to break his gaze. He’s used to women cursing, Gill and Shauna could swear like navvies, but Muriel, neatly dressed in her fitted Barbour jacket, snug against her petite frame, was a shock to the system.
“We’re ready.”
“Good.” Colin rubs his hands together. “Showtime.”
Colin strides down the line, speaking to each archer as he passes. Step ladders have been placed along the line. Metal scrapes against tarmac as archers climb to the top and load their bows.
The top of the road fills with light.
“They’re here.”
The cars roll forward.
The only sound is the crane’s engine as it churns in the dark, the hushed whispers of the archers as they take their places, and the chug of the generator sending its energy to heat the massive silo of tar at the edge of the building site. Mad Dog grips the long-handled axe tight.
“They’ve cut their engines.”
“On my command.”
“I guess they think they have the element of surprise.”
Lights flood the space, illuminating the bales of hay. Mad Dog runs with Haydock back to the building site. Out of the blinding light, five cars are visible. Men ride gunshot, sitting in the open windows of the back and passenger seats, rifles pointing towards the blockade.
“Probably about twenty men.”
The cars roll closer. “We should attack.”
“Wait for it.”
The cars roll to a stop. “Come on,” Haydock berates. “Just a few feet more.”
A door opens and a figure steps out. With tentative, quiet steps, he makes his way towards the barricade. The wall is silent. Mad Dog holds his breath. Just one voice, one whisper, and they’d be discovered. The figure shines a torch across the barricade, turns and makes his way back to the car. Another figure steps out and shines his torchlight into the tree. Dead and decaying, the terrorists glare with unseeing eyes at their brothers. Other doors open and more figures step out. Torchlight illuminates the tree. Angry voices. Fearful voices. A dead man’s shoe knocks against another.
“Fire!”
Arrowheads burst into flame, archers rise up above the barricade, and streaks of burning fire launch at the bales of hay. They burst into flame and fire sprints across the petrol-soaked tarmac and under the cars. Men scream as flames lick at their shoes and leaps to their trousers.
“Now!”
Sheila’s shoulders move rhythmically as she begins to pump petrol from the barrel at her feet, a long pipe leads to the top of the barricade and within the next seconds petrol sprays across the road, spattering the men and cars.
“Now!”
The arm of the crane swings. The silo wavers. The crane’s massive treads push at the tower. It topples. The screech of breaking metal fills the air and crashes to the floor with an explosive thwack, spewing thick and steaming tarmac across the road, spattering the blockade and lathering the terrorists and their cars with boiling ooze. Screams of agony pierce the night as flesh dissolves beneath the bubbling liquid.
Arrows flame in the night.
“Fire!”
Another shower of fire rains down on the men. The tarmac catches alight. Doors slam open then shut. A man screams as his arm catches fire and disappears into the car, his rifle crashes to the ground and slides in the super-heated tar. A car’s engine starts and gears crunch as it is rammed into reverse. It crashes into the car behind, slithers over the tar, and slams against another. Doors crash open. A man jumps out and fires a volley of bullets. They spray into the tree and the bodies hanging there. The corpses jump and twist on the ropes. Losing his balance, he falls to the ground then screams as he scrabbles in the hot tar. A burning arrow shoots from the blockade and pierces his chest. In the next second, flames spread across his shirt, up to his collar, catch at his beard, and engulf his head. Writhing bodies alive with flame, light up the road, and Mad Dog watches as they dance.
Sam watches as the cars wind their way along the high road. He counts five vehicles. He takes a breath. Keep it calm. The patter of his heart knocks against his ribs, his chest tight. He takes another breath, fingers trembling. Stay in control.
“Stations!”
Behind Sam a lorry blocks the road, its trailer jack-knifed to the hedgerows. There was no way the terrorists could get their vehicles beyond the blockade, but Sam was well aware of the damage they could do if they managed to get past on foot. This was it! The safety of more than ten thousand souls locked inside their homes depended on the defenders’ success.
A cloud shifts across the moon and the vehicles filling the road disappear. Colin had insisted on using dark-coloured cars and now Sam realised why—they were camouflaged in the dark.
The angry buzz of engines sounds through the night.
Boom!
The explosion comes from the other side of town.
“It’s started!”
Flames shoot into the sky from the main road where Colin and Mad Dog had laid their ambush. Light fills the road ahead as the cars round the corner and begin their descent down the hill.
�
�Our turn now.”
Turning to the narrow country road that serves as a boundary between the town’s houses and the farmer’s fields that surround it to the west, Sam watches the progress of the two vehicles that are crucial for their plan. If they can’t get in place in time then they’re going to have to rely on the lorry blocking the road and an infantry assault. That would leave them with a serious disadvantage. Knives, axes, and even Chugger’s chainsaw were no match for the rifles that the terrorists were very likely to be armed with. A hand slaps onto his shoulder.
“They need to be in place within the next minute or it’ll be too late.”
Sam takes a massive breath. “They will be.” They can’t not be! Come on!
The excavator passes the last house as the cars reach the brow of the final hill. Come on! Behind it a digger moves at top speed.
Heart pounding, wheels that reach above his shoulders roll past, and turn into the road. Sam jumps to the cabs. “Turn off your lights.” He jumps down, runs in front towards the oncoming cars, and motions for the massive engines to follow.
Cars ride across each lane, swooping down towards the town’s threshold.
Sam urges the drivers forward—just a few more feet. The huge digger rolls forward, its arm raised high. The massive metal bucket ready to smash at the cars. Next to it an excavator with its loader bucket raised at waist height, moves forward. Colin wasn’t satisfied with the bone-crushing tonnage of the excavator and so a double pronged bale spear has been attached. It is a formidable machine. It lurches as the driver shifts the gear then rolls forward, hidden in the dark as the clouds cover the moon.
The cars swoop down the hill. Sam estimates they’ll hit the threshold at fifty miles an hour.
The digger and the excavator finally roll into the shadow of the massive oak that spreads its boughs across the road.
The cars swing down past the town’s sign. The painted metal rectangle that proclaims the town’s twinning with ‘Brioune, France’ swings on its chains.
Tyres burst as the attackers reach the first line of defence: a tyre-shredding bed of iron spikes laid out across the road. The first cars skid, lose control, and crash into each other. The cars behind slide, swerve, and shunt those in front. Sam knocks against the metal bodies of the excavator and digger with his hammer. Diesel engines rev and they roll forward, gathering pace as they approach the cars.
The excavator reaches the tangle of cars first, turns its lights on, and slices its bale spears through the driver’s door. The digger throttles forward and crashes its bucket down on the roof of a second car.
A shot fires. A single hole appears in the windscreen of a third car and it smashes against the digger as its driver loses control. It flips to its side then rolls into the ditch. Three figures, Sam’s protectors, run under cover of the hedgerow to the crash site. Another car bursts into flames as a Molotov cocktail hits home, thrown through the broken window of the car.
The digger’s arm raises then smashes down again as the excavator reverses, pulling the bale spears from the ruined car. The driver manoeuvres the excavator and heads for the third car. It screeches as it turns, and rams into the burning car. It does a three-point turn. Gears crunch and the car lurches. The engine stalls. The arm of the digger rises again, reaching out for the car. A door opens and a figure lurches out. The arm of the digger swings, catching the man’s head, knocking him to the car’s door and bone smashes. The metal arm slams into the car, tipping it onto its side, then rises and crashes down. As figures emerge, the Protectors run forward. An axe rises and chops down. The air is filled with screams and the screech of crushing metal. The engines chug and the massive vehicles smash and push and hammer until the cars all burn as one and no man moves among them.
The boom of another explosion rocks the car as Bill pulls onto the slip road and the night blazes orange at the entrance to the town. Jessie slams her hand against the window. “Damn!”
“What is it?”
“We can’t get in to help! It’s so damned frustrating.”
Bill pulls the car closer to the exit road into town. Fire blazes across the entrance. Flames dance across the road, engulfing the cars that had sped from the intersection. Smoke, thick and pluming into the night, blocks the view down the road.
“We’ll have to sit it out.”
“Can’t we get in another way.”
“No. All the roads are blocked. It’s too dangerous to try.”
“Damn!” Jessie leans back against the seat.
Bill pulls the car forward.
The frustration of having to wait whilst the town tried to defend itself was unbearable. “If we go on foot? We can park up and get in along the hedgerows.” She suggests. “Bill. Drive down the slip road. We can get over the fence there and get into the town. We can help.”
Bill manoeuvres the car to face the bridge, unseen in the dark. “What the hell!”
Lights hover above the river.
“Jesus!”
“There’s more of them!”
Bill pulls the car to the verge as the lights grow brighter.
“There’s three cars.”
The engine idles as they watch the cars move up the slip road. Bill revs the engine.
“Bill! You can’t ram-”
“Ready”
Lights move through the sky as the cars approach.
“Bill!”
“Ready” Uri grabs the handle above the door.
Jessie rolls down the window. A dull chop, chop, chop vibrates through the air.
“Bill-”
Bill pulls out from the verge, tyres squealing. The lights shining in the sky swoop down.
“Bill. Stop!” Jessie jabs at the lights in the sky. “It’s a helicopter. And the cars—they’re armed police.” The helicopter swoops behind the convoy of black vans. “They’re not terrorists.”
Bill slams on the brakes. The car swerves and stalls. The cars screech to a halt, doors fly open and armed police take aim. Bill sighs with relief and reaches for the door’s handle.
Tears roll down Sarah’s cheeks as she tightens her arm around Gabe’s waist and watches the fires burn from the bedroom window. Flames, a dark and intense orange against the black sky, pinpoint the three entrances into the town where the terrorists had tried to attack. She’d watched with dread as the fires burst into life and then with horror as a convoy of vehicles had made its way across the bridge, but when Gabe had spotted a helicopter swoop across the town and hover near the threshold, she’d allowed herself to hope.
Their own road, fortified with armed men and Colin Haydock’s improvised defences had remained dark and silent.
As they continue to watch, the dark of night giving way to the thin grey of morning, her bedside lamp suddenly brightens and across the town streetlights switch on.
As the sun rises on the town, the air is thick with the acrid stench of fire. Above the burned and blackened husks of men and cars, four pairs of blackened boots sway and knock together in the morning breeze, a doleful windchime, singing its warning.
Epilogue
Jessie leans up against the door frame, her hand resting on Alex’s belt as they stand together to watch the announcement. Michael slides his arm across Clare’s shoulder and turns the sound on the television up a little louder as Anna scrambles up the sofa to sit on her mother’s knee. Uri watches the television intently, nursing a mug of tea in his massive hand, as the Prime Minister addresses Parliament. Although the dark purple bruising on the man’s face has receded to greens and yellows, his skin retains the ashen pallor of grief. His voice, however, is steel.
“I am here today … to give a message to all those who seek to harm us …” he squares his shoulders and speaks straight to the camera. “We will not cower. We will not submit to your threats. We will find you and we will destroy you. You have poked the lion, now hear it roar.”
Alex claps his hands. “Damn right!”
“They’ll get what’s coming!”
“I can’t believe they’ve brought back the death penalty.”
“It’s about time. They need to string up the scumbag terrorists along with the paedos.”
“You think they’ll hang them then?”
“That’s what they’re talking about although lethal injection is seen as the most humane.”
“Pah! They deserve no mercy.”
“Yes. They should suffer.”
“I never knew you were so bloodthirsty, Viktoria.”
“Neither did I until this happened. Now I know I will kill a man to keep my baby safe.”
Uri grunts. “I teach you how.”
The kettle boils and Bill pours water into the teapot. Clarissa sits at the kitchen table tapping at the keyboard of her laptop. She grunts then taps another key as Bill takes four mugs from the cupboard and pours milk into a jug. He reaches for the biscuit tin and places it on the table as Clarissa taps again then sits back for a moment staring at the screen. He offers a biscuit to Martha and then to Sam. The sun glints on Martha’s engagement ring as she takes a Garibaldi.
Town of Fire Page 16
