by Dave Lacey
“It looks like he was too slow and they picked him up, here.” Jack pointed at the ground without looking himself, his eyes restless and ever watchful. He started nibbling at the inside of his cheek.
“I know that look, Sumner,“ said Smithy. “Stay calm. We'll find them.” He moved round and commanded Jack’s attention. “We'll find them.” Finally, Jack looked him in the eye.
“Yeah, I know. What worries me is what I’ll do when we do find them.” His eyes flicked up above Smithy’s head.
They moved off at the same jog trot they had used hundreds of times before. The darkness enveloped them like a physical thing. Its cold embrace reminded them how different life was above ground, and how fragile they were. Cocooned in the faint glow of their lamps, they were still sweeping the ground for spoor. So far, so good. The abductors were making no attempt to cover their tracks.
The bleak foreboding landscape, comprising rubble and darkness, slipped past in little more than a blur. The three were so intent on their task, and the ground beneath their feet, that it might just as well have been a treadmill they were running on. They had been on the run for around ninety minutes, carrying them far beyond their normal scope, when they almost ran dead into the killing ground. Smithy was the one who noticed, and he made an urgent hissing sound to notify the others.
Smithy looked at Jack, and motioned for them all to get down. Jack sank to his haunches, and the soft sounds behind him told him Millie had done the same. All three of them now crouched low to the ground, and slowly made their way to the cover afforded by some tumbled concrete wall. As they crouched, Jack looked out over the jagged edges of the concrete, steel re-enforcing bars jutting out here and there. He made eye contact with Smithy, and jerked his chin up once.
What? Smithy frowned and shook his head once. Not sure. Jack lifted his gaze and scanned the ground ahead of them. It was dark; they had extinguished their lamps the second they got the warning, so there was nothing to light their way. Every few minutes, the Moon managed a peek through some of the cloud cover, gracing the scene with a silvery silken light. Had it not been for the nearness of danger, it would have been quite beautiful.
They remained stationary for what seemed like hours, but was in reality more like five minutes. They were about to move when Millie saw something. As Jack motioned to Smithy to get up and move, her hand gripped his shoulder tight. He was in the process of turning his head to look at her, when her hand left his shoulder and her finger extended to point at something.
Jack squinted, his eyes traversing the scene in front of him, and he was about to shake his head – Can't see – when he did see. About fifty yards ahead, he saw a plume of breath. His body tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Contact.
He repeated his sister’s gesture, grabbing Smithy by the shoulder and pointing past it to the breathing figure fifty yards away. After a few seconds and another plume of breath, he felt Smithy stiffen. His friend’s head nodded confirmation. The good news was that they had found the source of their immediate concern. The bad news was that they had no idea if this was a sentry, or part of a death squad.
There were rumours, and there had even been contact in the past, with death squads. Also, how in the hell had this figure not spotted them? Maybe he or she had, and was doing exactly what they were doing right now, watching. They each brought the scarves they were wearing up to their mouths, covering them, preventing their own breath being visible.
After five more minutes of watching, they decided to move forward and attempt to take their opposite number. Smithy, keeping low to the ground, led the way. Jack went next, knowing that Millie would have her back to him, watching their rear, making sure they didn't get taken by surprise. They moved quickly and quietly to within twenty yards of their prey. There had been no visible or audible signs that they had been made. After a brief pause, they moved the rest of the way, taking their time, quietly. Jack and Millie stopped while Smithy moved the last few yards on his own.
Whatever was going down, this person had no idea they were there. After an agonizing two minutes, Smithy stood out into the open and waved them over. He also gestured that they do it quietly. When they got to the breather, they understood. It was a man, and he was asleep. Pretty much upright, leaning against a crumbling wall, in a small lee. A smile played at Smithy's mouth as he moved forward and gently took the man's weapons. Then he nodded at Jack to proceed.
“It’s hard to know what'd be worse.” Jack’s voice seemed deafeningly loud after the quiet of the last half an hour or so. Like a hammy actor, the slumbering watchman spluttered awake, dragged from his peaceful slumber by an unseen hand. After a few seconds, his eyes focussed, and Jack continued. “Being caught by us, or being caught by your own.” Without waiting for a response, Jack fired a quick punch at the man's nose. It was a sucker punch, and because of that, Jack had pulled it enough not to break any bones, but it was firm enough to bring about a gush of claret. In the intense darkness, the blood appeared quite black.
“Who are you with?” Jack asked, his voice hard and unforgiving. Smithy moved in to hold their new acquaintance, pinning him by the shoulders. The man looked at Jack like he was some dark demon come to snatch his soul. His eyes rolled like those of a terrified horse. “Get a grip,” Jack said. “Now, again, who are you with?” The man spluttered his response.
“It’s not my fault. I don't want to be a part of it. They made me.” The man said. He got his breath back and went on. “It’s not a choice, you know.” He snarled.
“What's not your fault? What do you mean?” Jack moved forward, took the man's lank hair in his hand, and pulled his head up. “Start making sense or I'm going to lose my temper. What group are you with?” After a few seconds, the man spoke, snivelling.
“You won't know them. It’s not a community. They're evil. Bad men. I had no choice. I couldn't find anybody else, and my kids had no food.” He looked from one unfriendly face to another, desperate for understanding. It was Millie who answered.
“You always have a choice.”
The man whimpered further.
“Really, you have kids?” he asked her, his voice firming up.
“No–” she started, but he cut across her.
“Then you have no idea. When you come to the conclusion that you can’t feed them any longer, your choices become somewhat diminished.” His voice was filled with contempt.
Millie finished her sentence, indicating Jack. “But he does. And he's missing. Today. And we want to know what you know about it?” Her voice never rose in inflection, her hands were balled into fists and rested on her hips. The threat clear.
“Nothing,” the man said, too quickly. His eyes darted from Jack to Millie to Smithy. Calmly, Jack pulled a hunting knife from a pocket in his jacket. In movie honoured tradition, he turned the blade over, running a thumb across the blade, the rasping sound a testimony to its keen edge. “I'm telling you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just hang about for them, keeping watch.” Keeping his eyes on the knife, he swallowed hard.
“That’s the curious thing though,” Jack said. “Keeping watch for what exactly?” He stopped thumbing his blade to look at the man again.
“I'm sure you have watchers?” the man asked, a fair question.
“Yeah, we do. But they're usually near our gates,” Jack paused. “Does that mean we're close to theirs?” Jack’s face darkened as he leaned in over the smaller man. “Tell me now,” Jack demanded.
“Not really, no,” the man replied, leaning as far back as he could get in Smithy's embrace. He blinked rapidly before going on. “It’s about a mile from here. Please, you've got to listen to me. They’re not human. The things they do. They hold most of us there, the ones that won't argue or fight back. They have my children, keep them like hostages.” The man's breathing was ragged now, and his eyes stared at the floor, seeing things none of the others could. “They've... done things, terrible things. My girls...” All three heard him snuffle aga
in.
Jack’s resolve softened. He reached out a hand to grip the man's shoulder, but stopped short, his fingers flexing in the air. He hardened his heart and spoke.
“Have they been out today? Have they... have they taken anybody with them back to their den?” Jack felt his muscles tense, his mouth felt dry and he swallowed involuntarily. He let his hand finish its initial journey and he now gripped the man's shoulder. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh above the man's collar bone. Slowly, his lank hair covering his eyes, the man looked up.
“What?” he asked, as if he had just noticed they were there.
“I said, have they been out today? Have they picked anybody up and taken them back with them?” Jack spoke slowly, his patience wearing thin. Finally, the man answered.
“Oh, yes. A boy.”
Chapter 11
Jack walked away from the others, then leaned against the stump of an old tree and bent slightly from the hips, the back of his free hand wiping his mouth. He fought the urge to vomit. If these people had Jack Junior, there was no telling what they might have done to him by now. He heard soft footsteps approach.
“I'm okay,” he muttered. He knew who it was – the soft footsteps ruled out Smithy. A hand rested on the middle of his back, and his sister's voice came to him.
“I'm sure you are, but I thought I’d come over anyway,” she said. Jack stood and turned. Millie's expression was somewhere between a smile and a frown. “We know where he is, or where he probably is. That's good isn't it?” Her head dipped slightly, allowing her to look up into his down-turned face. Her hand pushed at his shoulder, trying to straighten him up.
“Of course it is, but you heard what the man said.” He couldn't finish the thought immediately, but then his imagination got the better of him. “They could be torturing him, Millie.” He knew by her expression that his features were twisted.
“You have no idea that's the case. You don't even know what the guy was going to say. Let’s talk to him again, offer to help him, Jack, for Christ's sake. It might shake him up.” Millie's eyes snapped him out of it. They were full of fire and intent; they shone even in the darkness. He stood away from the tree stump and marched back across the road to the two figures waiting there.
“Okay, look at me.” He gave the man a light slap. His head came back up and his eyes gradually focussed. Jack held the man's jaw in his hand, and looked right into his eyes. “What have they done to your daughters? What makes them so bad?” The man stood more upright now, and the lights came back on in his eyes.
“They are capable of anything, those men. They have raped and killed, tortured and tormented many men, women and children. They also, occasionally, hand humans over to the 'Landers. There’s nothing they won't do.” The man mustered some dignity and flicked his head back to move the hair from his face. His eyes burned with anger. “They raped my daughters. My little girls. They made me watch on one occasion.” He stammered a little here, struggling to say the words aloud. As he paused, Jack spoke into the gap.
“Why didn't you run? Why not take your children and run?” Jack frowned, his head moved back on his neck and he shook it in disbelief.
“Somebody tried that once. They found them. A husband and wife and their three sons. They killed two of his sons, tortured the third and raped his wife. I ask you, which of your children would you sacrifice to make a break for it? Would you ever be able to look your wife in the eye again?” The man angled his head to one side, his eyebrows raised in question. Jack paled, and his expression fell blank.
“I see,” Jack managed. “What's your name?” he asked the man.
“What do you care?” the man answered. He'd really found his balls now. Jack chuckled, admiration in his voice as he spoke.
“I care. What is it?”
“It's Darren. Darren Marshall. Yours?” Darren asked him.
“Jack Sumner.” Jack held out a hand. “Good to meet you, Darren.” They shook. “This is Smithy.” Jack gestured to his companion, and Darren shook his hand. “And my sister, Millie.” Jack gestured her way. The two shook hands, then Darren turned to him.
“So I take it you think the boy they have is your son?” Darren asked. Jack nodded.
“I think so, yes.” Jack could feel sweat on his forehead again now. He wanted to ask more questions, but wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers. “What will they do with him?” he asked, a little too eagerly.
“That's hard to answer. It mostly depends on what you want to hear. The truth, or flannel?” Jack paused, then spoke.
“The truth. I think.” He shrugged.
“Okay. There are a few possible outcomes,” Darren began, sweeping his hair back with his hand. “They could keep him as a worker. They could hand him over to the 'Landers, for whatever it is they do with people. Or, there's the other option.” This last possibility was pronounced with solemnity. Darren's face had become an impassive mask; his eyes went still and quite lifeless. Jack could feel the sweat on his forehead grow cold, and spread to his top lip. He felt the urge to vomit.
“And which do you think it is?” Jack asked Darren. Darren closed his eyes as he spoke.
“I have no idea. I'm sorry.” Darren's eyes opened again and he shook his head. “I know that's not what you wanted to hear, but it could be any of them.”
“Then we need to get moving,” Millie said. She looked at Darren. “Do you want out?” Darren looked at her, nonplussed. “Of the gang, community, whatever it is they call themselves? Do you want out?” He looked at her again, but this time his face was full of doubt.
“How, exactly, would I do that?” Darren frowned and looked sideways at Millie. Not the trusting type, she thought.
“Well, we're pretty good at what we do, and–” Darren snorted, looking at Millie with undisguised doubt. Millie bridled; her neck arched like a cat’s, and her eyes flashed a warning.
“Listen, don't for a second underestimate me, Darren. I'm not like any woman you've met before.” She was passionate, ready to smack him about. Smithy spoke from behind her.
“And that’s putting it mildly. Listen, Darren,” Smithy started, “you really don't want to get on her bad side. It’s not for the faint hearted.” Smithy raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. “So what's it to be?”
“Look, I’m sorry, I wasn't being disrespectful. It’s just that there’s three of you, and...” He looked at Millie, his meaning clear. She responded by her arms, all attitude and venom.
“Please, go on,” Jack cut in, “before you say something we'll all regret.”
“Well, they're not pushovers, you know. And there are a lot more of them than there are of you.” He stopped and looked around the three grim faces.
“Well, we're no angels, Darren, and we have two things in our favour.” As Jack spoke, he held up a hand, and stuck out fingers as he counted them off. “One, we have the element of surprise, and, two, it would seem they've had things their own way this whole time. It’s time things were evened up a little.”
Thirty minutes later, the team of four were taking shelter during a squall that had come up from nowhere. They had just spotted a single guard at the closed entrance of the gang’s lair. The group Darren had spoken of were either poorly advised, or just arrogant of their position. One guard was not enough, not by a long way. Jack, Smithy, Millie and Darren were hidden from view, though they were still able to watch what was going on. The rain hammered relentlessly on the detritus around them, covering any noises that they might make on their approach. As the rain fell, it made a myriad of sounds, heavy and loud, light and tinny, and splashing as it created puddles and streams.
They were poorly prepared for the elements, but well prepared for the task that awaited them. They had assessed numbers during their journey here with Darren. There would be around twenty guards. There were more, but some would be scattered around in various satellite stations they had in the area.
In the past, they had fought similar numbers of 'Landers. Though not i
n such confined spaces as here. Time would tell if they were good enough. As thoughts turned to what would take place in the next fifteen minutes or so, Jack also gave thought to what would happen if the rest of the populace decided they didn't want to be saved.
He tapped Millie and Smithy on the shoulder. They both turned to him. “Are we set?” he asked, his eyes and teeth the only things visible in the darkness. He sounded breathless to himself as he asked. Tension. They nodded in response. Jack could see his own nervous state reflected in their faces; they were all pretty fired up.
They had made their plan. Darren would go first, and he would talk to the guard and distract him while the others moved in. Or he wouldn't, thought Jack. He might betray them, but that was the chance they took.
To avoid being seen, the group of four took a long looping route left, through crumbling brick edifices and over collapsed buildings, their tread light and quick. After five minutes of moving, they reached a hollow where they took shelter. They were fifteen yards from the guard and the entrance to the lair. For the first time, Darren showed his true self, the man he must have been once, long ago.
He moved to the front, confident and sure. He nodded once at Jack, looked at the others and moved off. He made no attempt to hide, and the guard saw him and barked an order. Darren raised his hands and stopped. He called something out and the guard beckoned him closer, while holding out the muzzle of his automatic weapon.
Darren moved closer, then shone his own torch on his face, so that the guard could identify him. As the man moved closer, he looked hard at Darren. Then he laughed, said something, presumably insulting, and slapped him back handed across the face. Darren staggered backward a few feet, and lifted the back of his hand to his face and wiped it.
Jack couldn't read his expression from where they were, but he guessed they weren’t being ratted out. The guard turned from Darren, a dismissive gesture indicating he considered him no threat. It was his last mistake. With surprising strength and fluidity, Darren leapt at the man's back, and wrapped an arm around his throat from behind.
