by Paul Kane
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“SO, HOW DOES it feel to be in favour again?”
He’d first been asked that question in the small hours of the morning, by the guard who’d come to collect him. Javier, his wrists still bound, had instinctively touched his wounded ear, remembering what it was like to be out of favour. He had to admit, it felt good. And all because of his saviour: the boy.
Javier hadn’t recognised him to begin with; hardly surprising, seeing as he’d only gained a glimpse of him once. It didn’t help that the kid had been thrown into the dim caves along with the rest of the villagers De Falaise’s men had captured. The place was packed with them, in fact, hardly any room to move even an elbow or a leg. It reminded Javier of the illustrations he’d seen as a child from Dante’s Divine Comedy by Gustave Doré. One of the levels of Hell with naked bodies piled on top of each other, the masses suffering for their sins. The only difference was, in Dante’s Inferno they didn’t have men with automatic weapons guarding the exits, ready to shoot you if you made a wrong move – there were no exits.
It was a stark contrast to the early days after the virus. Back then, you’d be lucky if you saw one person a week, let alone dozens all crammed into one tight spot. Javier had been dumped here after De Falaise and Tanek had had their fun with him, most of which he’d tried to blot out, and every day that passed he’d been fully expecting them to return to finish off the job. Nothing they’d done had resulted in any permanent damage, just some flesh gouging, a few broken ribs, plenty of burns, and a scar in a particularly delicate place that he doubted would ever fade. The ear he had lost before he’d been dragged back up to the castle. How could he have feared the wrath of God over that? What possible pain could any deity inflict that would match Tanek’s skills? Yet he’d felt he had no option but to talk, back there in the forest. Not only had there been the constant bombardment of scripture – the threat of the Almighty’s wrath taking him right back to his formative years when his grandmother would quote from the ‘Good Book’ – but he’d also felt the weight of the place pressing down on him. It seemed ludicrous now, but it had almost been like the trees themselves were watching him, pressuring him to comply.
But what had made him think De Falaise would be lenient? In his mind’s eye, had he pictured a scene where the Frenchman would simply rap him on the knuckles for what he had done and then let him get on with his job – or let him go, free to wander wherever he wished so long as it was out of the Sheriff’s sight? The truth was he hadn’t really been given a choice. Those fuckers back in the forest had more or less forced him to return with his tail between his legs, an action which was rewarded by seeing his men shot dead in front of his eyes and his ear ruined.
Of all the things he had endured since his fall from grace, though, the waiting had to be the worst. Not knowing when his former leader would return and what things his right hand man would have in store this time. Agonising weeks, with only the scraps of food the guards tossed to him and whatever bugs he could find crawling around on the cave floors to sustain him. Javier’s belly had never been so flat as it was right now, not even when he was a youth in the military.
How proud his family had been of him then, as he worked his way up the ranks, before he’d been arrested on suspicion of dealing in black market goods and drummed out. The only reason he hadn’t been tossed in jail as well was that his superiors hadn’t had any hard evidence. Left with his career in tatters, he’d pursued the only option available to him, becoming a gun for hire. Those had been dangerous times, but Javier fought dirty and always got the job done. The rewards had been great, allowing him a luxurious lifestyle and all the women he could ever desire. Yet something was missing. No matter how much he pretended to be the big shot – growing bigger every day, literally – it was all an illusion. He’d never make Major in any army, because they simply wouldn’t have him. And though he’d led men into ‘battle,’ most notably those skirmishes in South America, they’d showed him no respect. It wasn’t an official army, just a bunch of mercenaries doing what they were being paid to do.
With De Falaise, it was different. Javier was feared by the men they’d commandeered, that they’d enlisted to their cause. He’d agreed to follow the Frenchman because there was something about the way he talked, just as persuasive as the Reverend. He had a vision, and he wanted Javier to become a part of that. They would have power, wealth, sex, whatever they wanted. There was just one downfall. If you let him down, there were no second chances. Usually.
Javier had failed him so spectacularly that he didn’t think this would ever be a possibility. That is, not until the Mexican had spotted the boy, his eyes now accustomed to the gloom. The tiny figure had been swimming in a sea of people, struggling not to drown. Javier might not even have noticed him if it hadn’t been for that backpack he was clutching in his hands: a makeshift float to stop himself going under.
I see you, little man, he thought to himself, smiling at how appropriate that phrase was this time. I know who you are. He remembered the battle, the fighters involved. One of them had been smaller than the rest. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered seeing...
A backpack, Javier had spotted a backpack.
Sure, there must have been thousands that looked like the one the kid was gripping. But somehow Javier was sure it was him. There was only one way to prove it, however.
Though he was weak from lack of proper food, Javier had pushed himself forwards, propelling himself through the arms and legs of the prisoners. Some complained, but not for long – he headbutted one and poked another in the eye. Javier had to get over to where the kid was, see his reaction when he caught his gaze. Only then would he be a hundred per cent convinced. Determination drove him onwards.
Sure enough, the boy looked across in his direction. Nothing unusual in that, Javier was causing quite a fuss. But when he stared right at him, Javier saw the fear in his eyes. The boy knew him, all right. Even in this half-light, the look of recognition was unmistakable.
“I see you, little man,” he said out loud. The kid with the backpack attempted to scramble away. “Hey, you, come back here. You’re my ticket out!” There were more shouts of alarm and protest, the other prisoners unable to fathom exactly what was going on.
Finally, Javier came within snatching distance. He reached out with his bound hands and his fingers snagged the strap of the boy’s backpack. Summoning all the strength he had left, Javier tugged the boy towards him.
“No!” he shouted, but it was too late. The kid had no footing to lose, and so fell easily into the Mexican’s clutches.
“I have you now, don’t I?” Javier whispered in his ear. “Your friends have caused me much pain.”
“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. They don’t know who you are, do they? De Falaise? Tanek? Otherwise you wouldn’t have been dumped in here with the rest of the dregs.” This gained him one or two severe looks from the prisoners, but they did nothing to antagonise him.
“I still don’t know –”
“Quiet! We will soon see what you know. Guard! Guard!” Javier began shouting, his voice echoing through the caves. It was crazy to think that his whole survival depended on one of the runts he’d once commanded, one of the men they’d picked up on their rampage through Britain. Javier just hoped that the fuckwit had enough sense to listen to what he had to say. “Guard!”
He saw one of De Falaise’s men appear at the entranceway. He flashed a torch into the caves. “What’s all this shouting about?”
“It is I, Javier.”
“Who?”
“I used to be a Major in your army.” I used to command respect, and fear, and wish to again – so listen to me, hear my words... “I need you to fetch De F... the Sheriff. Fetch him quickly.”
“Are you off your fucking head? Do you know what time it is? He’ll have my balls for breakfast.”
“He will have them anyway if you don’t giv
e him my message. I have identified one of Hood’s men.” The guard passed his torch over the boy Javier was holding and cocked his head. The Mexican rephrased what he’d just said. “One of his gang.”
“Fuck off. Him?”
“He was with them when they attacked us. I saw him,” Javier explained. “Now go and fetch De Falaise.”
The guard looked again at Javier’s captive, then seemed to think about the consequences if he was wrong. “I’ll... I’ll fetch Tanek,” he told Javier.
So he did. Javier didn’t know what he’d said to the big man – and wouldn’t like to have been the one to rouse the brute – but within ten minutes the swarthy giant was down in the caves with them.
“It’s true, I tell you,” Javier promised. “Why would I lie?”
“To get out,” Tanek said, blankly.
“Tell him.” Javier shook the boy. “Tell him who you are.”
The kid remained silent.
“I recognised him. Please, you have to believe me. What harm would it do to make sure?”
Tanek nodded. “Pass him over.”
Javier began to ease the boy across, but he struggled. Some of the people in the cave were aiding him, getting in both Javier and Tanek’s way.
They’re helping him because he’s with the Hooded Man, realised Javier. My God, are they stupid enough to risk their lives for him?
Apparently so, because Tanek took out a pistol and began to shoot those closest to him. He put bullets into two people before the crowd began to relent. “Better,” said the big man.
He reached over and grabbed the boy by the collar of his tracksuit top, holding him off the ground. Then he put him down and pushed him towards the stairs.
“No... No, wait!” shouted Javier after them. “Where are you going? Tanek... Tanek, don’t leave me down here with these people!”
But Tanek was gone.
The prisoners mourned for their dead. Then they looked to Javier for revenge. He lashed out at them, warding them off, but the sheer force of the throng was too much. They pulled him down into their sea, hand upon hand, bodies climbing on top of him until he could barely breathe.
Then, just as he thought it was all over, there came a voice: “Let him go. De Falaise has ordered it.” It was the young guard again, Javier saw through a crack in the bodies. He was pointing his rifle at the prisoners and they understood what would happen next if they didn’t comply.
Javier was spat out of the mass, thrown onto the cold floor in front of the guard. As he was helped to his feet, Javier spat into the crowd, who bayed for his blood.
The guard led Javier up through a corridor in the cave system. It was then that the question was asked of him: how did it feel to be in favour again?
Javier had answered honestly, after touching his wounded ear. “It is better than being dead.”
The guard led Javier up and out, through into another part of the caves. It was a place all too familiar. Tanek’s torture chamber.
He saw the boy first. Too small to hang in the chains they’d fixed up, the ones Javier knew intimately, they’d tied him to a wooden chair instead, hands strapped to the arms. He looked up as Javier and the guard entered, eyes already wide with panic.
Then Javier saw the duo of De Falaise and Tanek. Like Victor Frankenstein and his hideous monster, they loitered in their underground lair. The difference was that where the famous doctor sought to bring about life, albeit misguidedly, these two brought only suffering and death.
“Major Javier,” De Falaise said in greeting. “How nice to see you again.” He gave a chilling smile, lips pulling back over those yellow teeth, black eyes twinkling. “Is it me, or have you lost weight?”
Javier bit his tongue. This kind of goading was De Falaise’s speciality. To put a foot wrong now would see him back in the caves with those bloodthirsty villagers.
“Well, do not simply stand there – come inside and make yourself at home. Ah, I forgot, you are already familiar with the surroundings, are you not?”
Javier held his silence.
“What’s that?” De Falaise cupped a hand to his ear. “Would you like me to speak louder? Is that it?”
Javier shook his head. “I hear you just fine.”
“I am sorry. I do not think I caught that properly.” He turned to Tanek. “Did you catch that?”
Tanek admitted that he hadn’t.
“I hear you,” Javier repeated, but now added, “Sir.”
“Sir will suffice, I suppose. But also acceptable would have been ‘My Lord,’ or even ‘My Lord High Sheriff.’”
Javier grimaced, remembering it was he who’d told De Falaise about that name on his return from Hope. Absently, he wondered what had happened to the woman he’d brought back from there, and whether the Frenchman had dispatched her yet after having his pleasure.
“And how is your relationship with your God, these days? Do you still fear his retribution more than mine?” De Falaise laughed. “Look at you, mon ami. How you have changed. But then, you know what they say: easy come, easy go.” De Falaise approached Javier. “I do have one thing to thank you for, however, and that is giving me this important bargaining chip. If it does turn out that the boy belongs to ‘Hood,’ then you will have done well.”
“N-no...” stuttered the blond-haired lad.
De Falaise spun around. “So, it speaks, oui? Are you begging for your life already? Come now, the night... or rather the day is young.”
The boy was shaking but he got the words out. “No... Nobody belongs to him. P-people aren’t property.”
That’s exactly what the woman’s boyfriend had said back in Hope, thought Javier, and look what happened to him.
“Quite right,” snapped De Falaise. “They are pawns. Pawns in my game!” His eyes narrowed. “But the way you jump to Hood’s defence like that, it makes me think Javier was not just trying to save his own skin after all. That you may well be in collaboration with my enemy.”
“It is as I told you,” Javier insisted.
“You are not vindicated yet, Major.” De Falaise strolled over to the prisoner. “He still has to admit that he is one of Hood’s gang, that he has been plaguing my efforts over these past months. Are you ready to do that yet, boy?”
“Mark... my name is Mark.”
De Falaise nodded. “I see. But don’t think that a name makes you any more of a person to us. You are a handy tool. You serve a purpose. Right now that purpose is information.”
“I don’t know anything. I was taken from my village by your men...”
“And is it not correct that you told them that you’d seen the Hooded Man?” De Falaise turned to Tanek. “A fact that has only just come to light, although the soldiers in question have been reprimanded for their forgetfulness.”
“He was with the troops bringing us food and supplies.”
“So what happened to him when my men got there? He wasn’t killed with the rest of the scum, that much I am certain of. My soldiers would not forget to tell me that or they’d swing with the rest of your kind at the weekend.”
Mark gulped. “He took off.”
De Falaise grabbed the boy by his collar and pressed his face up close. “Liar! If there’s one thing I do know about my nemesis, it’s that he wouldn’t abandon his people to their fate. It is something I am very much counting on at the moment. Unlike myself, he has principles. But then you’d know that, being so close to him.”
“I-I’ve never met him...”
That was enough to set De Falaise off. He back-handed Mark across the face, his rings opening up cuts on the boy’s cheek. As Mark began to cry, the Sheriff said: “This will not go well for you if you insist on withholding the truth.”
De Falaise threw a look back over at Javier who was standing uneasily, watching.
“What is the matter, mon ami? You gave us this child, did you not, to do with as we will? Or is that another sin in the eyes of your God?”
Javier didn’t know what else to do but sh
rug. Inside, though, he was beginning to doubt himself again.
“If so, then what we are about to do to the boy will really piss Him off.” De Falaise called for Tanek to approach. “I suggest you answer my question truthfully this time,” the Sheriff told Mark, “or I will instruct Tanek to do something thoroughly unpleasant.”
Mark looked from Tanek to De Falaise, then finally across at Javier. His eyes were wet, pleading for help, but Javier kept his mouth shut.
As did Mark – an act for which he paid dearly. Tanek got down on his knees in front of him and held up his leg. Removing the boy’s shoes and socks, he placed the heel in one hand and then took out a small needle, barely big enough to sew a button back onto a shirt. Without further ado, he shoved this into a chosen spot on Mark’s sole. The boy let out a scream.
Javier cringed.
“You see, Tanek has been trained in both reflexology and acupuncture. Techniques which, in the right hands, can heal or harm. He knows just where to inflict the maximum of pain with the minimum of effort,” De Falaise explained to Mark. “All the other nonsense with chains and knives and red hot pokers... well, he mainly does that just for kicks.” The Sheriff glanced down at Tanek holding Mark’s quivering leg. “If you’ll pardon the pun. So, I ask again – are you a member of Hood’s gang?”
Gritting his teeth, Mark shook his head violently. De Falaise nodded at Tanek, who repeated his procedure. Another yelp came, less piercing than the last, but no less disturbing.
It took several jabs with the needle, on both feet, before Mark would admit to De Falaise’s accusation, and then all the Frenchman got was a slight tip of the head that could just have been the exhausted boy drifting into unconsciousness. Not that De Falaise would allow that, of course. He was there, all the time, slapping Mark on the cheek to wake him – just in time for another fresh bout of agony.
They continued like this for a good few hours, De Falaise asking questions, Mark refusing to answer at first, then finally giving in when he couldn’t hold out any longer. Tanek appeared to be able to reach every single part of Mark’s body from that one spot, as Javier noticed arms, shoulders, torso and neck all spasming in turn. Mark eventually told the Sheriff how many men Hood had, what their capabilities were, and about the main members of his team – complete with descriptions of Bill, Tate and newcomer Jack. When it came to the exact location of the camp, however, Mark kept shaking his head.
