by Chris Ward
‘I don’t think that went down too well,’ he said, his words a measured, thoughtful estimation of what she now considered a massive royal fuck-up.
12
Patrick
Whatever they had been forced to swallow in the cells before being hooded, bound, and dragged outside to a waiting vehicle had clearly worn off Suzanne a lot quicker than it had Patrick. He stared out at a crowd of several thousand shouting, angry people, barely comprehending what was going on. Below him, a line of fatigues-clad soldiers carrying assault rifles stood between him and the crowd, while dangling in the air in front of him was a hoop made out of what appeared to be tangled bed sheets. Only as a man with an unpleasant, sneering face walked up behind him and looped it around his neck did Patrick really understand what was going on.
Suzanne stood beside him, with Jack on her other side. To his right were five people of a similar age whom he didn’t recognise. The ugly man had held a microphone to Jack’s mouth, but Patrick couldn’t understand the words. Then someone near the back of the crowd was shouting, soldiers were pushing through the throng, and a crack like a gunshot rang out. Patrick still couldn’t shake the grogginess off, but then Suzanne was shouting beside him, and the words finally got through: ‘Down with the government!’
The noose went tight around his neck and he felt his air passage constrict. As though slapped, his grogginess left him and he snapped back to reality. He was hanging by the neck, his hands tied behind him, unable to do anything at all but stare out at the crowd as the soldiers opened fire. He saw blood erupt from holes in chests and people fall, but all he could feel was the tightening of his chest, and the realisation that he was going to die.
Then something long and thin whizzed through the air. A man died behind him with a gargle like the last water in a sink. Another followed, and Patrick felt a moment of utter weightlessness before crashing to the ground. As he lay on the stage, gasping for air, it took a moment to realise something had shot through the rope of his noose.
Suzanne still hung beside him, the others all around. He rolled onto his front, coughing, his chest heaving, then he felt something heavy land on his back legs. He heard a growl like that of a dog, then his hands were loose and something was pulling him back.
He fell off the stage, landing hard on the concrete, but he was free. A dead soldier lay nearby, a longbow arrow embedded in his forehead. On the stage, something in a robe was cutting Suzanne down then throwing her over its shoulder and leaping off the stage as though she weighed no more than a bag of sugar. It landed beside him, hidden beneath a brown robe and hood.
‘Move,’ it growled.
‘Over here!’
A man waved at him from the front of a car. Pushed by the robed figure, Patrick stumbled towards it, his feet like uncontrollable bags of jelly. He tripped and hit the ground twice before he reached the car, cutting his palms and scratching his face.
Suzanne’s head was lolling as though the drug had at last taken effect. The creature pulled open the door and shoved her into the back. It flapped a twisted, clawed hand in an indication that Patrick should follow, but he turned, looking back at the gallows where he had so nearly died, and saw a familiar shape still hanging there.
‘Jack!’
The robed figure reached for his shoulder, trying to push him into the car. Patrick tried to shoulder it aside, but it was like pushing against a wall.
‘Inside,’ it growled, but Patrick twisted out of its grip.
‘He helped us,’ he said. ‘We can’t leave him.’
The figure turned. It’s robe shifted and something rose up that had been hidden inside, a bow the length of Patrick’s arm. The creature nocked an arrow and fired. It struck Jack in the back. The boy’s body jerked once then fell limp.
‘No!’
‘Don’t … suffer,’ the figure growled, then kicked Patrick in the stomach, pushing him into the car as he bent double. As he fell, he grabbed for the robe, and for a fraction of a second the hood slipped. Patrick caught a glimpse of a canine face with human eyes and a crown of scar tissue and wires, then the creature was gone, fleeing into the streets.
The car jerked, throwing Patrick against a groaning Suzanne. The driver spun them around, hacking them in a tight circle then powering out of the square. Around a corner they came to a checkpoint, but the driver just leaned out, gave the single guard a hand slap, and then they were waved through.
As they sped down an empty street, the driver leaned over his shoulder and smiled. He had an easygoing face and a mop of curly brown hair.
‘Name’s Moose,’ he said. ‘Got a message for you. Uncle Tommy says hello and not to worry, you’re safe now.’
Patrick rubbed his neck, sore and chafed from the noose. His windpipe felt bruised as though someone had been punching him, and he had an uncontrollable urge to keep swallowing. Beside him, Suzanne was awake, but her eyes were darting around as though unsure what was going on or where they were. Patrick squeezed her hand but she didn’t squeeze back.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Safe house,’ Moose said. ‘Best to lie low for a while. Uncle Tommy will be around in a bit to let you know your next move. I’m afraid you’re fugitives now.’
‘Who are you?’
‘A friend. You could say extended family. Now that the government’s no longer on our side, family is more important than ever, wouldn’t you think?’
‘I suppose,’ Patrick said.
‘We’ll be driving a while as I need to make sure no one’s on our tail. It might be a good idea for you to take a rest. Keep your heads down, and if we’re stopped say nothing. Let me handle it.’
Patrick nodded. He felt overwhelmingly tired, and beside him Suzanne had begun to snore. He had barely understood what was going on, but now memories of the last few minutes returned in patches: the crowd, the gallows, Jack’s swinging body, and most of all, his rescuer.
He remembered the wires, the horrifying dog’s maw with its jagged, glistening teeth.
But most of all he remembered the eyes. He had seen them before: in fact he had seen them on most of the days of his life.
His brother’s eyes.
Race.
13
Suzanne
Suzanne woke in the most comfortable bed she could remember. The bedclothes smelled musty as though no one had slept here for a long time, but the mattress was hard and the pillows soft. She rolled over, feeling the beat-up mess of her body creak and groan, then went back to sleep.
When she woke again, Patrick was sitting beside her. He reached out and squeezed her hand as she shifted and sat up, his fingers curling tightly around hers. She met his eyes and saw pain there but also relief that they had escaped.
‘Where are we?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Some crumbling manor house out in the country. That guy Moose said it belonged to one of Uncle Tommy’s clients who has fled the country.’
‘Sounds a bit dodgy.’
‘I took a look around. It looks like someone still lives here, but I think that’s just Uncle Tommy’s people keeping up appearances if the DCA show up. It’s an amazing place, though. If you’re feeling better, we can look around together.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever feel better. Not really.’
As she spoke, though, she was unsure what aspect of the last few days hurt her the most. Was it the beatings and the rapes? The imprisonment just for being connected to her father? Was it that she had found a noose around her neck for no apparent crime and watched others like her die?
‘It’s been a hard couple of days.’ Patrick smiled as he said it, and Suzanne heard the irony in his voice. ‘I mean, it could possibly get harder, but I’m not sure how.’
He helped Suzanne out of the bed. She was stiff and sore, but nothing was permanently damaged. Patrick told her that a bathroom in the hall had hot water, so she took a shower and cleaned herself up while he waited in the bedroom. When she returned, Patrick had laid out a selection of jea
ns, skirts, sweaters and t-shirts.
‘Where’d you get these?’
‘Tommy’s got a stash downstairs. Moose said they collect all sorts, donated by people, just in case.’
‘In case of what?’
‘I have no idea. But anything’s better than those old prison gowns.’
She realised he was wearing blue jeans and a black sweater. ‘What happened to those horrible things?’
‘There’s a wood burner in the kitchen. I shoved them in there.’
‘Good.’
She got dressed while Patrick looked out of a tall window at the garden outside. She hadn’t really looked around, but now she saw furniture and fittings from hundreds of years ago: hand-carved bookshelves lined with hardbacks of classical literature, ornate chairs that looked remarkably uncomfortable, and a desk that looked heavy enough to trouble an elephant.
‘This is an old National Trust house?’
‘Yeah, I think so. One still partially owned. Tommy managed the man’s accounts, so Moose said.’
Suzanne joined Patrick by the window. A wide field of grass lined by flowerbeds led down to a forest. They were on the third floor, and the Mendip Hills were just visible above the trees in the distance.
‘The town would be in that slight dip beyond the trees, wouldn’t it?’
Patrick nodded. ‘We’re not that safe. And I have to go back anyway.’
‘Why?’
Patrick sighed. ‘That creature that rescued us, I saw its face. It had a dog’s snout, but human eyes.’ He took Suzanne’s hand and she found it was shaking. ‘They were Race’s eyes. That creature was Race.’
‘What? That shit they made us take … you must have been hallucinating or something.’
Patrick shook his head. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what someone has done to him, but that creature, that was my brother.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘And Uncle Tommy must know about it if he was involved. I have to find him.’
Suzanne didn’t know what to say. On the one hand she hated Race because he was a disgusting pervert, but he was still Patrick’s brother. She had her own family she was worried about. In the end, all she was said was, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I looked into his eyes. I don’t know if he recognised me, but I know that was him. I have to go back.’
‘You know the DCA will be hunting us? It’s dangerous, Patrick. We’d be better to stay here and wait for your uncle to show up.’
Patrick was staring out at the gardens, his eyes glazed, seeing something else far away. Suzanne squeezed his hand but got no response.
‘Patrick?’
‘I have to go back,’ he said. ‘I have to find my brother.’
They found Moose downstairs in a spacious but crowded kitchen. There were three cookers in addition to the wood burners, two fridges and a large table squeezed into the middle. Moose was sitting at the table, polishing dress shoes. Three pairs already sat on a piece of newspaper, and he had a box beside him containing several more.
‘Got to keep busy,’ he said, looking up. ‘A place like this plays on the mind. Too many eyes watching you, if you start thinking about it.’
‘Where’s Uncle Tommy?’ Patrick said.
Moose pointed at a cordless phone in a brace on the wall by the door. ‘He calls when he wants something. Until then, we lay low.’
‘How long?’
‘Could be hours, or it could be weeks. He’ll call when he’s ready. You should spend the time recovering your strength.’ He nodded at a door Suzanne had failed to notice tucked in behind a tall cupboard. ‘Larder’s through there. It’s kept well-stocked. Help yourselves.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for the DCA, but I’m not a housekeeper. You can prepare your own meals.’
‘I have to go back,’ Patrick said. ‘I saw my brother. That creature that rescued us, that was him. Do you know what’s going on? Where he came from?’
Moose shrugged. He continued polishing a shoe with a gentle swish-swish of the brush. ‘Look, I was told to pick up two kids and drive them here. That’s the extent of my knowledge of anything. Tommy’s only instruction was to keep an eye on you until he gets back in touch. He prefers to keep what we know to as little as possible. If one of us gets caught, we don’t have much to say.’
Patrick looked frustrated, but Suzanne put a hand on his arm and pulled him away. ‘Thanks for everything you did for us,’ she told Moose. ‘We were nearly dead back there.’
Moose smiled. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with this country, but little of it’s good. There’s a big grey area between what’s right and wrong, and many of us have found ourselves in it. All you need to know is that there are a lot of enemies out there, but in here you’re safe. Your Uncle Tommy, me, and even whatever that thing that cut you down from the gallows was, we’re on your side.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Take a look around but don’t stray too far. If you go into the gardens, stay out of the woods. Keep in view of the house. I expect Tommy to call sooner rather than later.’
Suzanne led Patrick back upstairs. She was keen to do what Moose suggested and lose herself in their new home for a while, perhaps read some books or find a television. Anything to escape the horrors still bouncing around in her head. She didn’t want to think about her time in captivity, Jack, her missing father, the family she had who still might be in danger. Patrick, however, was restless, pacing up and down until she could stand it no more. When she suggested a walk outside, he jumped at the chance.
The gardens were extensive. At the front were a series of stepped patios and flower gardens leading down to a parking area and an ornate stone gatehouse. The vehicle Moose had brought them here in was nowhere to be seen, but they found tyre tracks leading in then heading away, so most likely another secret parking area was hidden out of sight.
To the rear the gardens opened out, wide expanses of lawn interspersed with copses of trees and a couple of duck ponds. Everything was surprisingly well maintained, although the grass was a little longer, the flowerbeds a little wilder, and the ponds a little more clogged with fallen leaf litter than might have been normal for a National Trust house. Someone was maintaining it just enough to continue a charade of occupancy.
They held hands as they walked out across the grounds. Suzanne tried to forget everything that had happened and just enjoy the moment.
‘I wish we could stay here,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s quiet, it’s safe, there’s a ton of food … couldn’t we ask your Uncle Tommy to just let us stay on as caretakers? The DCA would never find us.’
Patrick frowned. ‘Yeah, they would. They’re going to find everyone eventually. Everyone who dares to hope for the world to get better.’
Suzanne said nothing. She might be trying to let go, but Patrick wasn’t. He had begun to look as he had in the cells when she returned from her nightly abuse, his face puckered and dark as though he wanted to explode but didn’t know how.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Yesterday we were nearly hanged in public. Now we’re walking around the gardens of an abandoned manor house. We might not have everything, but we’re together, and it could be a lot worse.’
‘For us, maybe. What about my brother?’
Suzanne took a deep breath, trying hold down her anger. ‘How can you be so sure it was him? You told me you only saw his eyes. And what kind of person has a dog’s snout? You’d nearly been strangled, Patrick. How can you know what you saw?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘How can you be? You told me you saw a thing with a dog’s snout, human eyes, and wires all over its head. What the fuck is that?’
‘Someone had built it.’
‘Built what? A fucking vampire dog monster? Be realistic. If it wasn’t a robot it can’t have been real. No one can mix a dog and a human. It’s like a TV show or something.’
He turned to her, his eyes blazing. ‘I know what I saw. It was Race.’
‘Well, if you ask me, that prick g
ot what he deserved. I just hope they cut his dick off as well as his mouth.’
Patrick looked about to slap her. Instead he gritted his teeth and turned away, his fists clenched. Suzanne wondered if she’d gone too far, but she’d never made any secret of her opinion of Patrick’s brother, no more than he’d made any secret of his lecherous advances towards her. She’d once been round at Patrick’s place and caught him peeking through the crack in their ill-fitting bathroom door. She’d yanked the door open and found him with one hand in his trousers, wanking himself off. She’d slapped him across the face but all he’d done was grin.
After that she’d refused to go around there, insisting Patrick visit her.
‘Patrick, look … I’m not going to pretend I like your brother, but I’m sorry for what I said.’
He started to turn, then gave a little shake of his head. They had reached the edge of the field, where it dipped down to a trickling stream that bordered the grassy area. On the other side was woodland, gently sloping uphill.
Something silver glimmered in a patch of sunlight near the top of the hill.
‘I’ll come back for you,’ Patrick said. Before Suzanne could reply, he broke into a run, heading for a little footbridge over the stream. He reached it, running hard, his feet thumping on wooden boards, and then he was into the forest. She recognised what he had seen now; the silvery glimmer belonged to the bonnet of a parked car.
‘Patrick, wait!’
He pitched forward, landing face down in the leaves, and then slid backward as though dragged by some invisible force. Howling, he rolled over, clutching at his leg.
‘Patrick!’
Suzanne raced down to the stream and onto the bridge, but as she reached the other side, Patrick put up a hand.
‘Suzanne, no, stop! There could be more!’
