by Paul Kane
There were two gunshots in quick succession, and Dale – wrongly – assumed they were the result of Jack’s tussle with the final guard. But then he noticed the two bullet holes in the Dragon’s chest. Dale turned around, and was surprised to see Meghan holding the first guard’s pistol, the one that had been pressed against his own temple. She was on her knees, her wounded hand hanging by her side, but the other was outstretched, still holding the smoking gun.
Dale often thought back to that day, and wondered if Meghan had just been really lucky not to hit Sian, or if the size of the Dragon had helped with her aim; after all, there was so much more of him than her niece. Meghan didn’t know either, and she’d never fired a gun in her life before, as she’d explained afterwards. Something had just made her pick it up and shoot. Something guiding her hand. An instinct that had tried to keep Sian safe long before the Dragon came along.
Sian dropped from the Dragon’s grasp as he tottered backwards. Dale went across to her, keeping his eye on the big man as he went. The Dragon was looking down at the holes, the blood. His eyes were wide as he dipped his fingers inside, not daring to believe he’d been hit.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m...”
“Oh, Owain, let us have a look at that. I’m sure it’ll be all right if we put some antiseptic on it and a plaster,” he managed in his mother’s voice – though Dale noticed the tremble of fear.
Then Owain said one thing in his father’s tones: “Prat.”
Dale began pulling Sian away from the scene. The Dragon clutched at his wounds, and his hands came away scarlet. He rubbed his face with them, closing his eyes.
Dale shuddered as the Dragon opened them again, looking more like his namesake than ever. “I... I am...” he said, then stumbled forwards. He held on to the back of his father’s bed for support. Dale watched him reach down, lifting the pillow.
“Do you remember, Dad? When you brought me here?” The Dragon’s voice was weakening as he brought out the object he’d hidden there. “D-do you remember those rugby games?”
“Jesus,” said Dale. “Jack, Meghan, we have to get out of here!” They looked at him, puzzled, so he thumbed back towards the Dragon – now holding a rugby ball. “It’s a bomb!”
That did the trick, and Jack helped Meghan up, pulling her out through the door. Dale followed closely behind with Sian, struggling to hold her up and knowing they only had a few moments left. His ears had finally stopped ringing and he clearly heard the last words to come from inside the room.
“Do you remember what we said, what you taught me? Say it with me now. We are Dragons. Come on...” He sounded like he was half crying; but to Dale, right at the end, it also sounded like there was more than one voice. “We are Dragons. I. AM. A. DRAGO –”
The explosion blew them halfway up the corridor, but the walls protected them from much of the blast. It had to have killed the Dragon, though, even if his gunshot wounds hadn’t – not to mention the other men who’d chosen to guard him. Everyone else in there had been dead a long time ago.
As the smoke cleared, Jack and Meghan rose, and Dale picked Sian up. She was starting to stir a little, thankfully, even tried to smile when she opened her eyes and saw him. He smiled back, brushing hair out of her eyes.
“Come on,” Jack said, “that’s enough of all that.” He realised he was still holding onto Meghan, and let go. He coughed. “We’d better check what’s happening in the rest of this place. It ain’t over yet, kid.”
But compared with what they’d just gone through – what he, Sian and Meghan had been going through for a while – how could the battles raging upstairs be any worse?
THINGS WERE ABOUT to get much worse.
Robert thought it as Mary freed him from the ropes at his wrists. Oh, his legs were scorched in places, but it could have been so much worse. And they’d had some good fortune: take the guy who’d confronted the Widow, now standing like a statue, quite clearly dead from the knife wound she’d inflicted on him. Robert felt sure he recognised him, had seen the man somewhere, but couldn’t place him. Why had he done it? They’d probably never know, but they had been lucky. But that luck was about to run out. Apart from the veritable army about to knock down the door, Robert still had his wife – his real wife – to face. And apologise to. “Mary, listen –”
“Later,” she told him.
“But...”
She placed a finger to his lips as she helped him up. “I know what you were doing,” Mary told him. “Buying us time. Trying to fool her. You weren’t the only one acting back there, you know. Oh, I didn’t want to listen at first, but then someone close forced me to.”
He was about to ask what she meant when she kissed him, long and hard, on the lips. It was as she was doing so that the first of the explosions went off. “Did the earth move for you?” she asked.
“Always.”
They kissed again, the explosions and gunfire a million miles away. But when they broke off, Robert frowned. “Can you smell –”
“Burning!” Mary screamed, pushing Robert away. Coming at them was a flaming figure, risen from the bonfire like some kind of phoenix. The Widow rushed at them, flailing her hands, still wielding the sacrificial dagger that meant so much to her. For a moment Robert thought that the words she’d been uttering as he dragged her back onto the flames might have worked; that instead of burning her alive, they’d somehow made her more powerful. But if it was black magic keeping her alive, it didn’t last for long. She dropped to the ground after failing to either share the fire with the couple or stab them.
As she fell, she let go of the dagger and Mary promptly kicked it away, out of reach. The flames went out quickly, leaving her body blackened and crisp. Still the Widow struggled to rise, climbing to her hands and knees. Robert thought then how much she resembled the thing he’d seen in his dream: the spider that was her namesake.
She toppled over onto her back, her breathing shallow. Only her eyes and her teeth now shone white. Though it was clearly agony for her to do so, the Widow gestured for Robert to come closer. He remained where he was, and she whispered something inaudible.
Robert took a step nearer.
“Robert, no!”
“She’s trying to speak,” he told Mary.
“Just be careful. She’s dangerous.”
There was a laugh from the Widow at this, followed by a pained moan. Robert leaned in, close enough to hear but not near enough to be grabbed if she decided to pull a stunt.
“W-won’t hurt yer...” breathed the Widow. “Just wanted to tell yer, we will meet agin... Robert, ma Hooded Man. I’ll see yer agin...”
Robert shook his head. It was highly doubtful, but then hadn’t he seen De Falaise and the Tsar again after their deaths? After he’d taken their lives?
“It’s... it’s fitting...” she told him. “What I deserved... but it is not the end... You’ll get yer magic back, Robert... This I promise... And we... we will see each other again.” She reached up now, too quickly for him to pull back. She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. Mary made a move, but he held up his other hand.
The Widow smiled, eyes closing. “Tae bad,” she whispered, “It could have been... somethin’ quite special.” Then she collapsed back to the ground.
Robert looked at the thing in his hand: a blackened card, but he could still make out the picture of the Emperor on its surface. He shook his head.
Mary said nothing. She just crouched down on the other side of the Widow, wrapped her fingers in the edge of her top and pulled off the golden ring on the third finger of the woman’s left hand. “Mine, I believe.”
They’d been so caught up in the Widow’s final moments that they hadn’t noticed the escalating gunfire and explosions outside. The banging on the door continued nonetheless, those loyal to the Widow still trying to get in.
Robert barely had time to stand when the door finally caved and in rushed several raiders. Mary helped him to his feet, not knowing what either of them could do.
But then they saw the guards lowering their weapons. “Robert? Mary?”
He squinted, trying to see beyond the goggles and masks. One pulled off his headgear to reveal a face he recognised. “Saxton!”
The others came inside and Robert saw there were more Rangers dressed like the Widow’s men, but bringing up the rear and shouting for them to let him past was a voice he recognised all too well. “Come on, move aside. Let the dog see the...” Bill paused when he saw Robert. “Well, I didn’t really want to see that much!” he exclaimed, nodding at his friend’s nakedness. Mary stood in front of her husband, at least until she could find something to cover him with.
“Bill, you came for us,” said Robert, giving him a weary smile.
“Aye lad, in the Black Shark. Didn’t ye hear me?” Bill laughed, until he caught the glare Robert was giving him. “Ahem, but look who I found in the Widow’s dungeons,” the ex-farmer said, changing the subject. He stepped back to reveal Azhar, Annie Reid and some of the other Rangers from Robert’s original strike force.
Robert’s smile widened. “What’s happening outside now?”
“The battle’s still going on, but we’re holding our own, with the help of the traders I brought with us. Won’t take long to settle now we’re all back together again. It’s the Widow we’re really after, mind. Fix her and you fix the probl –” Bill suddenly stopped, as if only now seeing the blackened thing between them on the ground. “What’s that?”
“Consider the problem fixed,” Mary told him, putting her wedding ring back on now that it had cooled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHE’D BEEN ON the move for hours. Her legs ached, her feet had blisters, but she marched on. She didn’t need the torch anymore, since the sun had started to rise. Nearly there, she kept telling herself. Reach the outskirts and you’ll be spotted. They’ll take you to the castle and you can explain everything. You can do your bit.
Walking through the woodland at night had been the hardest part – all those strange sounds and movements in the undergrowth. After finding the dirt track to the main road, it was just a matter of following the map to the city. It reminded her a little of the walks her parents would insist on taking when she was younger, out every weekend into the country, boots and backpacks on, striding out over hill and dale. If nothing else, that had prepared her for a hike like this. And she’d kept herself fit during her adult years, going to the gym three nights a week, keeping her alcohol consumption down. Yeah, only because you never used to go out anywhere at the weekend; even the walks with your folks were better than the marathon weepie sessions with a chick flick and a box of Kleenex.
Approaching thirty and still a virgin, stuck in a dead-end job as a receptionist with a boss she hated, fancying male employees but never having the courage to ask any of them out. Karen Shipley, hopeless romantic with no-one to lavish her affections on. It had taken most of the population of the planet being wiped out before she stood even the remotest chance with a guy.
Karen hadn’t really wept for anyone during those early stages of the virus, because she didn’t have anyone she loved as such – her parents had died in a car accident long before that. Perhaps they’d been the lucky ones? Neville from Human Resources didn’t count because he was creepy, and she’d only snogged him under the mistletoe that Christmas because she had given in to the booze at the office party. It had taken her so long to stop him from trailing her around the place that she was almost grateful for the virus... No, that was terrible. Poor Neville. Poor everyone. She didn’t like to think the only reason it had happened was so she could actually get herself a man.
Yet it was looking like that might be a happy by-product. The one ray of sunshine in this whole, stinking mess. It wasn’t her fault the virus killed all those people who didn’t have O-Neg blood like hers. The more she thought about it, the more it made a kind of sense; it was the duty of those left behind to hook up and try and repopulate the planet, wasn’t it? Karen knew exactly who she wanted to start her own particular repopulation with, as well.
She’d known from the minute she set foot in the village, after being picked up by a scout party from New Hope. Karen had convinced them she had skills they’d find useful – typing counted, right? By the time they discovered she didn’t have anything to offer, she’d already made herself indispensable fetching and carrying, working hard on whatever needed to be done. Like the wall and the tunnel, for example; both his ideas. The man she planned to marry someday: Darryl.
Karen had spotted him as the jeep drew up, younger than her definitely, but extremely hot – especially with his shirt round his waist like that, sweat covering his muscles. He’d noticed the jeep arriving, breaking off from his labours working on the first few sections of the wall, and trotted across to greet the new arrivals. As usual, she’d made a complete arse of herself and tripped over her words. But she’d smiled at him and he’d thrown her one of his casual smiles back. The kind of smile she’d walk a million miles – never mind this piddling distance – for.
That’s why you’re doing this, she reminded herself every time she felt her feet hurting, or her legs aching. For Darryl. Because he’d volunteered again to do this, but you wouldn’t let him. And to keep him safe. To fetch help, making sure those Germans didn’t get to him and kill him.
It had been Gwen who’d come up with the notion, who’d wanted to go herself – trusting only Darryl to look after her son, Clive Jr. Karen didn’t care much for the bond between Gwen and Darryl, but they had known each other a long time. Besides, Karen didn’t see her as too much of a threat; she was always banging on about that dead father of her child, the guy who’d founded Hope and got himself killed for his trouble. Gwen wanted to slip out again using the tunnel, this time to fetch help from Nottingham Castle even though there was some kind of stupid feud going on between her and the Hood. “They’ll help once I’ve explained,” Gwen had assured everyone. “It’s what they do. It’s all they do.” But Darryl had played the hero again, putting himself forward.
“You can’t, Gwen. We need you here,” Darryl had said. “I need you.”
Karen winced inwardly at that one, but chose to read it as him needing her leadership. Dammit, even after the hug when he climbed back up through that hole, he still didn’t seem to get it. Which was why, when Darryl said that he was going instead, Karen had piped up, volunteering herself.
He’d looked at her oddly, then, like he was seeing her for the first time. “You?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why not? I’m a lot more resourceful than I look, matey. I’m quick and used to walking long distances, have been since I was a kid.” The fact she hadn’t walked more than a couple of miles in one go during the past ten years was irrelevant.
Darryl smiled, but wasn’t there a tinge of concern there too? Did he realise, just a little bit, that she was doing it for him? Yes, Karen thought that he did. “If you’re sure, then?”
Karen nodded emphatically. “But when I get back, I’ll expect another hug,” she told him. Probably the boldest thing she’d said or done in her life; even bolder than Neville, and she’d been drunk then.
Darryl had smiled again, a little awkwardly, but she’d take it. He’d also exchanged glances with Gwen, probably to see whether she was okay with Karen taking this on. Gwen had looked concerned as well, but shrugged. “If you’re sure that’s what you want. Thanks, Karen.”
So she’d set off, armed with a pistol, carrying a map and torch. Gwen had issued orders and instructions, especially about not being seen as she emerged from the tunnel on the other side of the wall. Karen had nodded, not really taking any of it in; she was too busy watching Darryl in the crowd of people who’d come to see her off. “But most of all, hurry,” Gwen said. “We don’t know how much longer we can hold them off now Tanek’s here. And Graham and Andy aren’t getting any better.” Andy had been badly injured by Tanek’s crossbows on the last attack, and now resided with Graham in the surgery. Both were growing weaker by the hour. K
aren had nodded, taking at least that much in.
“Hurry. Got it.”
She’d left amidst the ‘thank yous’ and ‘good lucks,’ a bit disappointed that Darryl hadn’t come across personally to say goodbye. But she knew he’d see her in a different light if she pulled this off. All she had to do was bring back help and she’d be the hero of the hour. Then she’d get that hug, and more besides.
Karen had listened at the trap-door for a good while before opening it, and then only a crack. Once she was certain nobody was about, she’d come up and covered the door back over again. Keeping low, she’d moved what she thought had been stealthily. She’d had one scary moment when it looked as if a German soldier had spotted her, but she’d carried on away from the area – away from New Hope – undetected; unscathed. And she had hurried, to begin with. But her lack of fitness soon began to tell on her.
Nevertheless, she’d trudged on to the main road – then followed it along, keenly aware of what might be coming along it from either direction at any given time. Thankfully tanks and armoured jeeps were quite easy to spot and hide from. Hardly surprising it was on the last leg of the journey that she’d flagged, having to stop every few yards at one point.
It was then, as she’d stumbled along one of the smaller roads on the way to Nottingham, that she’d been seen. She hadn’t spotted anyone herself – but then, that was what these Rangers were good at, concealing themselves. All of a sudden she was confronted by three of Hood’s people, all pointing bows and arrows at her.
“Lose the gun,” one told her, and she’d cautiously taken her pistol out of her jeans, tossing it on the floor.
“I need to see Robert,” she’d told the Ranger who’d spoken. “Or Reverend Tate. It’s about New Hope – the place is under siege.”
The Rangers exchanged glances, and one detached a walkie-talkie from his belt to radio in. The next thing she knew she was being marched up into the city. When she’d complained about how far she’d tramped already, arrangements had been made for a horse to be brought. Karen had never ridden before, and it was a strange experience to do it for the first time through the empty streets of Nottingham. It took an age, and just when she thought they’d never get there, she was led up one final street and the castle was in front of them.
