by Candy Rae
Some miles away, Jessica was talking to her father. “It’s amazing really,” she said. “So much has happened to us. It’s like something out of a horrible story.”
“Perhaps you should write one,” suggested Peter with a slight smile. “I would very much like to read it.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Okay then, I jolly well will. Only thing is Dad, stories should have happy endings and I don’t see any happy ending in ours.”
“Don’t be disheartened. No matter what has happened, your mother will survive and I am sure she is more than capable of ensuring that Cherry and Joseph are okay.”
“But what if these men have taken over Fort?” she asked apprehensively. “How will Mum manage then?”
“I am more than confident in her abilities Jessica,” he replied seriously. “It’s early days as well, remember. I am sure we will be able to find and rescue them in the future. I am absolutely positive that you will see them again.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
They were walking together, close by the water’s edge. The travellers were growing accustomed to the mauvy-yellow sea vegetation and the dry spicy odours were becoming familiar. The sea was different although these differences were far subtler. Like the Earth they had left behind, it was blue, but there were flecks of yellow and red to be seen in the water.
Jessica took her father’s hand in her own. “We’ll be at the islands soon,” she announced, “then we can swim across and we will be safe.”
Peter nodded; he also wanted to get to the islands without delay. He decided to speak to Gerry and pick up their pace a little. For the last couple of nights he had had the strange feeling that they were being watched and felt what could only be described as a peculiar probing sensation within his mind. He wondered if any of the others were experiencing anything too.
When asked, Gerry agreed they should go faster. The horses appeared nervous of something, although he didn’t know what. Although there was some grumbling at this dictat, it was pleasant to march at the water’s edge in the moonlight and the sixteen travellers increased their nightly mileage by a full half and reached the beach next to the first island on schedule.
With Johannes Pederson uncommunicative, Peter found in Gerry someone he could talk to. The two men were forming a close friendship. It was during one of their talks that Peter began to speak about their future plans.
“Our priority is to get to the island,” he said, “make an area habitable enough so that we can last out the winter.”
Gerry agreed with him. “Come spring the mares will foal,” he said. “We need somewhere suitable for that.”
Peter grinned. Like Camilla before him, he was beginning to realise just what these animals meant to the man.
“Then,” Peter added, “I am going back to Fort to rescue Anne, Ulla and the children. Tom and Angus want to go too. If we can get any others we will try for them as well.”
“Is that wise?” asked Gerry. “If Camilla was right and the prime motive for the prisoners’ attack was to get their hands on the women they are likely to be well guarded.”
Peter nodded. “I know, but I am, was their Captain. I can’t just abandon them.”
Gerry thought about what he said. “I’m coming too. After all, I do know my way about Fort. There’s even a secret way in.”
Peter grasped Gerry’s arm in silent thanks.
Once they had reached the beachy outcrop nearest to the first island, they had made their way back into the trees and camped next to a small fresh-water stream. It was still dark and Peter decreed that they should rest for what was left of the night and attempt to cross to the first island in the morning.
The horses did not seem to be nervous and restless in any way but the watch duties were not relaxed. Jessica and Martine took first stint.
“Storm coming,” announced Gerry as he passed them on his way to his bedroll. “Keep a close eye on the horses. Don’t want them spooked and have to go chasing after them. Call me if you have any trouble.”
“It’s as calm as anything,” protested Jessica.
Gerry looked at her. “Believe me lass; there’ll be a storm by morning. When you go to bed put the groundsheet on top of you to keep out the rain.”
Jessica laughed. When their watch was over and they woke Tom and Jenny to do their turn, there was still no sign of any impending storm. However, not long before dawn, an ominous roll of thunder woke them as the promised storm struck. Torrential rain lashed down and the sleepers hurried to gather up their bedding before it got completely soaked. Gerry refrained from telling Jenny ‘I told you so’. The bitter wind cut through their garments like a knife.
Sheltering below an overhanging rock, they could manage to fend off the worst of the rain if they positioned themselves carefully, but the party could only watch as the storm grew in intensity. There would be no jaunt to the first island that day, nor if they had known it, the day after. If possible, the storm grew worse with each passing hour and showed little sign of abating. It was sixteen wet and disgruntled people who made the best of the situation before seeking the scant comfort of wet bedrolls on their second night at the campsite. The horses were not much better off, tethered forlornly as they were a short distance away. They looked reproachfully at Gerry whenever he came close, the grey mare even going as far as nipping him painfully on the arm when he ventured a consoling pat.
When they woke the next morning, the storm was easing then died away altogether, leaving devastation behind. Trees lay uprooted where they had fallen. The sun shone bravely over all but could do little to heat their wet, cold and tired bodies.
Brentwood’s men had pressed on regardless through the worst of the weather and were rapidly approaching the campsite. They had followed the trail up to the coast but lost it temporarily when their feet hit the sandy beach. However, the deeper telltale tracks and droppings left behind by the horses had not been washed away entirely by the tides. Above the tidemark, hoof prints were clearly visible in the muddy sand beside a small tarn by which the horses had been watered. Brentwood, after some investigation had concluded that the fugitives had turned east. When the storm struck, he drove his men on and on. The first clear morning after the storm his scouts were closing in.
At the campsite and after a hurried breakfast, Gerry took the mares with him to a small area some distance away and behind some trees where there was some succulent grass growing to enable them to graze before they set out. Those left behind at the campsite busied themselves getting the float trees ready to aid them during the swim. The trunks littered the ground and it was an easy matter to drag them to the waterline; they were extremely lightweight, so that one person could easily carry a fairly large chunk of wood. By mid morning all was ready. They could leave.
Peter sent Jenny and Jessica to fetch Gerry and the horses. They carried a meal for the three of them and the instruction to stay with the man and help him lead the horses to the beach once they had finished eating.
Jessica smiled at her father as she took Gerry’s pack from his hands; her own pack was already on her shoulders.
Peter bent down slightly and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. He felt in his pocket and drew out a small silo-backed notebook. “Take this,” he said, “it’s my notebook … don’t know why but I want you to take it with you for now.”
Jessica looked at him with a stir of unease but all she said was, “I love you Dad.”
“And I you mouse,” was his tender answer, “now scoot!”
The two girls were helping Gerry ready the mares when he stopped what he was doing as his ears caught some odd noises from where the others were getting ready.
“What was that?” he asked sharply, half to himself.
“What?” asked Jessica, looking at him over one of the mare’s back. She was tightening the saddle cinches, it having been decided that the animals could manage the swim with their tack still on.
“Thought I hea
rd something.” He checked that his two mares were still securely tethered and looked at the girls. “Wait here. I’m going to check,” he ordered. “Keep out of sight. Make sure the horses stay quiet as well.”
He began to move quietly towards where they had left the others. Listening hard, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed as he tried to discern just what exactly the sounds meant.
He then heard loud voices, loud male voices, and then high-pitched screams from the girls. What is that? Is it the sounds of metal clashing on metal? Gerry groaned. It could only mean one thing and one thing only. They had been followed and their pursuers had found them. He turned and sped back towards the two Jays who were standing quiet and shocked where he had left them.
“I think…” he began.
“The convicts have found us!” gasped Jenny in consternation, understanding in that instant the meaning behind his white face. “What can we do?”
“You two will stay right here,” Gerry commanded in a loud whisper. “Remain out of sight. I’m going to see if there is anything I can do.”
They heard the whine of a laser-rifle and a scream.
Jessica made a move as if she was going to rush across to the campsite. Jenny, white-faced, grasped her friend’s arm to stop her.
“Jessica,” said Gerry urgently. “Listen to me. There is nothing you can do at the moment. At least your Dad knows that you are safely away.” Turning to Jenny, as being the more level headed at this point he ordered, “Keep her here. If I am not personally back here within an hour, you still got working chronos?”
Jenny nodded mutely.
“If I’m not back by then you wait until it’s clear and then take the horses and swim for the first island yourselves.”
“I can’t,” bubbled Jessica. “I can’t leave Dad now that I’ve just found him again.”
The sounds from the campsite were getting louder; they could all hear shouting and screaming and the crash of bodies moving around in the undergrowth.
Gerry grabbed her hand. “Jessica,” he implored, “you must. Don’t let these men catch you. I’ll go help your Dad and the others and I will find you again.”
With that, Gerry left them and keeping a low profile reached the campsite unobserved.
They had given a good account of themselves. Although taken by surprise, the adults had used their laser-rifles to good effect. Four of their attackers were dead or dying, one almost split in two by the force of the blast. Another two were badly wounded and unlikely to make it through the night. Brentwood had been exceedingly clever; he and his sergeant had both managed to grab an unsuspecting girl and, placing a knife at her throat, demanded the surrender of Peter and his men. The men and Martine had dropped their weapons at once.
Gerry lay unseen behind a nearby bush, not three feet away from the body of Johannes Pederson. He could do nothing. His face became more and more anguished as he watched the convicts punch and kick at the remaining away-team. Once they tired of this sport and the three men lay groaning in the sandy soil, Brentwood cold-bloodedly ordered his men to slit their throats.
The girls in the campsite screamed louder than before. Gerry continued to watch, sick at heart. He now had first hand experience of what these men were capable of and of what had, in all probability, been the fate of the male defenders back at Fort. They would be dead by now, the same as the Captain and his team.
Gerry didn’t stay around for long. He realised the men might well start counting soon, and then work out that some of the females they had been hunting for were missing. He had to go back to Jenny and Jessica.
Gerry was correct. Brentwood did start to count, but the horse-master had forgotten something important, the existence of the away-team. Brentwood was looking for twelve people, not sixteen. Although he was surprised to find four men amongst the party, he wrongly presumed that they had set out with the woman and the girls, sent out with them for protective purposes. He was surprised to find that the total number within the campsite was thirteen, one too many by his calculations, but Martine was quick on the uptake, telling him that one of their horses had carried three people, it being a sturdy beast and well able to carry the load. Luckily two of the teenage girls standing quivering with the rest were very slight of build and Brentwood accepted her explanation at face value. None of the girls ever revealed his mistake in the months and years ahead.
Brentwood did not even order a search of the vicinity. Asked as to the whereabouts of the horses, Martine told him that they had been spooked by the storm, pulled their tethers and run away, she knew not where. To her surprise, he didn’t question that either.
At that point, Gerry turned away and crawled back to the two girls and his beloved mares, intent on getting them away as fast as possible.
Brentwood and his remaining men rested at the campsite until the following morning and then headed back to Fort.
Obeying Murdoch’s orders to the letter, none of the youngsters were in any way molested or ill-treated; the men were kind to them in their own way.
Brentwood got his wish. Returning with his prizes to Fort, he was admitted to Murdoch’s inner circle, along with Baker, Duchesne, Smith and Cocteau. He also got his choice of one of the young girls, an ethereal fifteen-year-old blonde beauty, whom he had earmarked as his own during the journey back to Fort.
* * * * *