by Paul Kane
That they were heading her way.
Mary rushed to the kitchen window, craning her head to try and see up the dirt track leading to her farm.
They were dots to begin with, no bigger than the bees. But they were growing larger with each metre of road they devoured. Mary hadn’t encountered another human being in all this time, and now she was about to meet several, all at once. She counted two jeeps, three or four motorcycles and a truck.
What do I do? she thought to herself, realising her hands were shaking. Hide? Pretend I’m not here and hope that they’ll just go away? But she’d done enough of that already. It didn’t sit right anymore. This was her farm now, and she should see what they wanted. After all, they looked sort of official. Perhaps civilisation was piecing itself back together? Perhaps they were here to help?
It wasn’t long before the vehicles were in the yard: the chickens in the run protesting, the pigs in the sty oinking for all they were worth. Mary hung back at the window, crouching and peering out through the netting. The men wore uniforms, but they weren’t like any she’d seen before. They looked as if they’d been standing in an Army & Navy store when a hurricane hit: each soldier sporting items from different branches of the forces. The man stepping down from the driver’s side of the truck was wearing a peaked cap – obviously the guy in charge.
He reached into the truck and pulled out a megaphone, as more of the soldiers came to join him. Each one was heavily armed, she noted, holding machine guns close to their chests.
“If there is anyone at home here, please come out with your hands where we can see them,” the man shouted. His accent betrayed him; definitely not from England, though Mary couldn’t place where it had originated.
They don’t sound very friendly, Moo-Moo... came the voice of her brother in her head. It didn’t freak her out at all, because she knew – hoped – she wasn’t crazy, just imagining what he might say if he were here. No, I definitely don’t like the looks of this.
Neither did she.
“If you don’t come out, we will be coming in. We are here under the authority of the new High Sheriff of Nottingham.”
The what? said David in her head. He’s got to be kidding, right? Have we just gone through a time warp or something?
Mary watched as the men spread out, investigating the chicken run, the sty. They reported back to the fellow with the peaked cap. She watched, horrified, as one of the soldiers stepped into the run, grabbing a chicken and snapping its neck. Mary had just about got over that when she heard gunfire coming from the pigsty, a rat-ta-ta-tat noise as someone massacred the helpless creatures. Her hand shot to her mouth.
They’re going to do that to me, too, aren’t they?
Probably, Moo-Moo. I don’t think you should hang around to find out, do you?
Mary came away from the window and noticed the smoke; the bacon had burnt to a crisp. Then the smoke alarm went off, proving that even if everything else in this world had gone to crap, then at least one thing could be relied on. The incessant beep-beep-beep gave her away, and she knew she didn’t have long before they stormed the house.
Mary ran from the kitchen into the hall, passing the crossed broadswords that hung there, on her way to the combined study and living room. She hurried to the desk at the back, her father’s antique desk. On her way, something caught her eye through the window – figures rounding the back of the house, ensuring any escape route would be cut off. Mary yanked open the drawer nearest to her. There they were, lying in the bottom, shiny and fully loaded, with packs of bullets next to them. When they’d been little, her father had kept them safely locked away, only bringing them out to admire and clean when they were in bed. As they grew, he’d been less bothered about safety, even letting them hold the pistols when they were unloaded. David had always looked at them like he was handling live snakes, but Mary had felt the weight in her hand comforting. Whereas most farmers might have a shotgun to protect their land, Bernhard Foster had two replica Smith & Wesson Peacemakers, and he knew how to use them. Mary had watched him out in the field sometimes, able to knock nine out of ten tin cans from their perch on top of a wooden crate at thirty paces or more.
She’d watched and she’d remembered.
When the handgun ban had come into effect in the UK, David had wanted to take them in. But she argued against it, saying that it was one of the few things they had left of their father, but really just wanting to keep them around the place. She felt safer with them in the drawer. There was a reason she’d looked after them and kept them loaded ever since David had gone. A reason she’d practised with the tins just like her father had when she was young. This was the reason, she understood that now.
Taking them out, her fingers curled around the handles, and it gave her confidence. Mary felt like she could do anything now, anything at –
There was a banging on the front door – which she had a clear view of from her position. Placing one pistol down on the desk momentarily, she stuffed bullets into the pockets of her jeans, as many as she could cram in there. Skirting back around the desk, she used the living room door jamb for cover and risked a glance out. Heavy boots were stamping against the wood of the front door, but it was holding for now. It wouldn’t for long.
Just like Custer, eh? Dad would’ve been proud, said David.
Great, thanks...
The door was splintering at the lock and Mary knew in seconds they’d be through. She slid down the wall, breathing heavily, waiting to act until she heard the door give completely. She heard it smash open, and turned to fire upwards – assessing the situation quickly before pulling the trigger.
The soldiers burst in and she let them have it. At the awkward angle, her aim was a little wide, ricocheting off the stone wall above the door. Nevertheless it was enough to force a retreat.
She smiled to herself – that wasn’t so hard. But then a hail of bullets filled the hallway; Mary only just managed to roll back into the living room and avoid them.
“Tin cans don’t do that,” she muttered to herself.
Luckily they were aiming high, the soldiers either not that well trained or hampered by the smoke wafting out of the kitchen and filling the hall, masking her from sight.
Mary looked around for an easy exit. The enormous back windows were probably her best option, but even now she saw shadows there as more men ran around the back of the house, trapping her.
She heard the shattering of windows elsewhere too, possibly the dining room on the other side of the hall. The stairs were between there and here, so a dash for the landing or bedrooms was out of the question. Mary shuffled up against the living room wall.
First order of business was to defend the front door – they’d be coming through there again any moment. Mary rose and peered around the jamb. Sure enough she spotted figures there – responding to orders given by their commanding officer outside – and she fired blindly through the smoke. She dived as the muzzles of their machine guns flashed again, rolling as she did to the other side of the jamb.
There was gunfire at the back of the house as well, raking the stone, shattering the glass of the living room window. Mary fired a couple of shots in that direction to try and ward off any soldiers entering that way.
She risked another glance into the hall, and it was at this point she saw something rolling towards her. It was small and black, ball-like but metallic; it rattled along the wooden floor as it went.
Move, Sis! Get out of there, right now!
“Oh, shit!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. Mary was about halfway across the room, already diving for the shelter of the desk, when the grenade exploded in the hallway. The force of it flung her the rest of the way, bouncing her off the top of the desk and pitching her against the far wall, as most of the room appeared to follow behind her.
Mary landed on the other side of the desk, protected from the resultant blast but barely conscious.
Moo-Moo... Wake up! You’ve got to wake up... Those men are in
the house and they’re going to hurt you! Please, Moo-Moo!
So, her mind was still working then, still keeping up the imaginary dialogue with her dead brother? She drifted in and out of wakefulness, desperate to keep her eyes open. Mary could hear sounds, men calling out to each other. A creaking from above, someone walking on the floorboards upstairs. They were searching the house from top to bottom.
“All clear,” someone called.
She blacked out for a few moments, then another voice not far away was shouting, “In here... Look.”
“Careful, she’s still alive.”
“Call Colonel Rudakas, quickly.”
Mary was aware of hands on her, of being lifted up – but she couldn’t do a blessed thing about it. Again, a few more seconds of blackness, then she felt her face being slapped.
“Hey! Wake up!”
Another slap, followed by a shake – rough hands holding her on either side were pushing her backwards and forwards in quick succession. Mary screwed her hazel eyes up tight, then opened them. The figure in front of her was blurry, but she could tell by the peaked cap it was the man in charge, this Rudakas guy.
She was shaken again. “I’m awake,” Mary burbled. “Stop shaking me.”
“Good.” He smiled. “This is quite a place you have here...” He waited for her name, but when Mary didn’t offer one, he proceeded. “Hidden away, miles from civilisation. We almost missed you on our spree today.”
Mary struggled against the men holding her, but they had a firm grip.
“You’re headstrong, I’ll give you that – but it will fade soon enough. You’re also very beautiful.” Rudakas looked her up and down. It made Mary feel sick to her stomach. “My Lord De Falaise grows weary of the companion he has at present. He is in need of some fresh company.”
“Who... who are you people?”
“Us? Have you not heard? No, I do not imagine you have. We are the new order, we are your new masters.”
“You’re not my anything.” Mary scowled.
Rudakas toured around the room, approaching the desk that had shielded Mary after the grenade went off. When Rudakas turned back to her, he had both the Peacemakers in his hands.
“Collector’s items, I believe. Where did you come by such magnificent pistols?”
“They were my father’s,” Mary told him reluctantly.
“Ah, a family heirloom, then... Like all of this, I presume.” He gestured at the room, the house. “I must apologise for the untidiness, but you left us little choice. Had you made your presence known, surrendered earlier, then...Well, things might have worked out a little differently. I am not an unreasonable man; nor is the Sheriff.”
“Sheriff? I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple, really. My Lord has taken over these lands and appointed himself their keeper. Which, put simply, means that everything found on said lands belongs to him. These” – he lifted the pistols – “your property, such as it is... Your animals, which we have already begun slaughtering for meat. Your crops and, finally, you, my sweet.”
Mary stiffened.
“I take it you do have a name?”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“Tell me, for that too belongs to him.”
When Mary defied the man, he stuffed one of the pistols into his belt and then punched her hard in the stomach. The breath exploded from her, but she wasn’t allowed the luxury of doubling over – the men holding her on either side saw to that.
“Now, I ask again, what your name might be?”
Tell him, Moo-Moo. Tell him or he might do something worse.
“Ma... Ma...” was all she could manage, but it wasn’t just the effort of speaking when winded; it was the principle that was sticking in her throat.
The man grabbed her just under the chin. “We have all the time in the world, but it would go easier on you if you just told me right now.”
Mary spat in his face.
Rudakas recoiled. “You fucking bitch! I will teach you some manners before dragging you to the castle.” He pulled back his fist again, and was about to strike Mary when there came a noise from outside.
It was the sound of gunfire.
“What is that? Are there more of you here?” When he got no answer, he said to the men, “Hold her until I return.” Rudakas strode off up the hallway.
Mary’s face stung and her stomach was killing her. But she recognised an opportunity when she saw one. Feigning weakness, she lolled forward, forcing the men holding her to yank her back again. As soon as they did, she made her move. Mary stamped on the foot of the soldier to her right. He was wearing boots, but then so was she, and Mary dug the edge of her heel in hard for maximum effect. The man let go and, as soon as he did, she swung her newly-freed arm around and smashed a fist into the face of her other warder, giving a satisfying grunt as his nose shattered.
Without anyone to hold him, the man did double over – so she punched him again, this time at the temple. He toppled over sideways and didn’t get up.
Mary suddenly felt arms around her. The first guard, who’d got over her treading on his toes, had wrapped himself around her, clasping his hands together over her chest. Mary dropped, letting go and turning into a dead weight, slipping out from under his grasp. On her back, and on the floor, she brought up her left leg and swung it over her head, kicking the man squarely in the crotch.
He fell backwards with a loud yelp. Mary ran to the smashed window at the back of the living room. More of Rudakas’s people were standing guard there but, as she watched, something very strange happened. Out of nowhere came an object, a spinning thing flying through the air. It hit one man at speed, wrapping itself around his neck, the twine whipping round until the stones attached to each end came together. He reached up for this throat, unable to call out, choking as other newcomers approached.
One of them was a huge bear of a man wearing a baseball cap. He came up behind a soldier and swung what appeared to be a staff, knocking him into a beehive.
What’s going on, Diddy?
I’m not sure, but I think they’re here to help, Moo-Moo.
Then she heard the second explosion of that day, and the house rocked with its intensity.
RUDAKAS HATED HAVING to leave the girl, especially at such a crucial point.
He knew De Falaise would not want a woman who would spit and fight back – he preferred them to be docile. If he could tame this one, he’d be in his Lord’s good books for weeks, or at least until he grew bored of her too. Not that it was always a good thing to be among De Falaise’s most favoured, mused Rudakas. Just look at Javier. He’d brought their leader the last girl, and in return had been rewarded with a very ‘special task.’
Rudakas wondered absently how well he might have fared in the forest against the Hooded Man. Surely he would have done better? He pushed such thoughts aside, concentrating on the here and now, on the fact that the woman back there was not as alone as she seemed. He looked down at the pistol he held in his hand. “They were my father’s,” she’d said, and he’d assumed the man was dead, just like most of the population. But what if she’d meant him to think that? What if her father had seen them approach and hid, maybe in one of the barns? Maybe in that rickety old garage joined on to the house? Or perhaps a brother or cousin, if the father was no more? Anything was possible and someone was certainly causing a ruckus outside.
The door had swung to again, so Rudakas pulled on the handle to see what was happening. Once more he heard gunfire. He looked outside and couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.
His unit was under attack, but not just from one man – or even a couple. Gunfire emanated from the bushes ringing the fields, from behind the barns, even from behind their own vehicles. They were being hit by an organised and motivated group. One of his own soldiers dropped, falling from a shoulder wound. Another was hit by something much cruder – a stone, flung with force.
“Pick your targets,” shouted Rudakas. “Watch f
or muzzle flashes and –”
Something embedded itself in the wood of the door jamb, inches away from his head. He examined the arrow, obviously handmade, but lovingly fashioned and extremely deadly. Then he traced its trajectory back to the person who’d fired it. He was standing on top of their truck, head down, a hood covering much of his face. The bow he was holding – a strong wooden longbow – was still reverberating from the shot.
Be careful what you wish for. You wanted to know how you’d fare against the Hooded Man? Well, now you will find out.
The figure on the truck, set apart from the rest of the battle, and barely seeming to take notice of the bullets flying back and forth, raised his head. From beneath the cowl Rudakas saw two of the most penetrating eyes he’d ever had the misfortune to gaze into. It was as if the man had fixed on him, and him alone, for his prey.
Rudakas was suddenly conscious that the only guns he had on him were the Peacemakers he’d taken from the woman. With one in his hand already, he snatched the other from his belt and raised them, moving forward at the same time.
The Hooded Man smiled, a grin only just visible beneath his beard. And like a blur, he was reaching for another arrow from his quiver, jumping down onto the hood of the truck, hitting the ground running.
Like gunfighters from an old western movie – quite appropriate, considering the weapons Rudakas held – they faced off against each other. The colonel fired, expertly aiming and yet somehow missing the target every time. The Hooded Man let off a couple more arrows, one of which scraped Rudakas’s thigh, the other only just missing his head.
“Fuck!”
Rudakas fired again, the Hooded Man mirroring his actions. This time a bullet nicked the latter’s shoulder: a flesh wound, but enough to ensure the man’s aim was off.
Rudakas grabbed his chance. Raising both the Peacekeepers, he fired directly at his enemy’s head. Both pistols clicked empty. He’d become so used to automatic weaponry, easy to reload and discharge, that he’d forgotten he was holding revolvers – and that the woman had already fired off a number of bullets at them as they broke into her home.
