He watches as Andy walks with Clarissa. She laughs at his joke and Bill’s belly clenches. He was jealous! No. No way. Yes, way! He grits his teeth and takes a breath to ease the tension. Getting close with Clarissa was not something he wanted to do. Emotions, feelings – fekk ‘em. Getting close with Clarissa was exactly what he wanted to do. He sighs, looks away and pulls the imaginary knife out from between Andy’s shoulder blades.
“So, Bill,” Clare says interrupting his thoughts. “You were in the forces.”
“Huh! Yeah, for a while.”
“I thought so. So, where did you serve?”
“A few places.”
“Oh? Like where?”
“Afghanistan, Iraq, Kuwait, Belfast ... the list goes on.”
“Cool!”
“Yeah. Clare, tell me. Why are you at the Academy?”
She’s quiet for a moment, seemingly taken aback by his question. “Well ... well, I want to be in the navy—obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“... yes ...”
“It’s not so obvious to me. Jessie and Alex—they’re obvious, but you ... you I’m not so sure of. War is tough.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be in the navy, it’s just that you seem a little-”
“Unsuited?”
“Well ... yeah.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Yeah.”
She sighs and droops her head. “Being in the navy is all I’ve ... all my father has ever wanted for his kids. He’s a Peer now, in the House of Lords, but he served in the navy. There’s only me—my brother died when he was a kid ...”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Clare.”
“Me too.”
“Listen. You don’t choose this life—it chooses you.”
“Sure, but, my dad-”
“Stuff your dad. Joining up—you’re putting your life on the line. If you follow this journey to its conclusion—that’s what you’ll be doing.”
“Sure, I know that.”
“Well, as long as you do. You’ve got to do it for the right reasons and not because you want to please your dad. How old are you Clare?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Well, you’re not a kid any more then. You’re a woman. You’ve got to make your own decisions in life. There are a lot of jobs you can do in the forces. You’re good with languages, right? You knew what those bastards were saying, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, become an interpreter—something like that.”
“But-”
“It’s up to you, Clare, just my thoughts. Like I said, war, going out in the field—it’s tough—you have to be strong—up there,” he says tapping at his temple.
“Is that what happened to you?”
He quietens and looks out across the fields with their newly growing wheat. “Yeah,” he replies. “That’s what happened to me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Tramadol is wearing off as Michael reaches Bramwell’s gate. The walk back has been hard, but the bike has given him the support he needs. He pulls back the bolt and pushes the heavy gate open, it sticks on the gravel and he flinches at the pain in his legs as he forces the muscles to work. At least the clingfilm was still in place. Grahame had urged him not to go, but despite the pain he just wanted to be comfortable and back in a place where he felt safe. Home, his house back in the town, hadn’t been his first thought; Bramwell had. Interesting how quickly he’d come to think of it as his home, somewhere he felt at peace—somewhere he’d defend.
The town’s edginess was growing and since news of the fire had spread among the inhabitants a new and fierce militancy was rising. Sure, it had been growing in the preceding months, years probably, with all the terror attacks the country was suffering, and the frustration of leaky borders and a government that didn’t seem to have the balls to deal with the growing illegal immigrant problem, and the thousands of men pouring into the country claiming to be refugees, but now the threat wasn’t just in the cities. It was real—it was in the towns—the bastards were targeting them—the ordinary, inconsequential people living their small-town lives. What the hell was going on? What had he, Michael, ever done to deserve being run over or set on fire? Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. Intolerant bloody fuckwits! He closes the gate behind him making sure to slide the bolt back in place then pushes the bike onward. The front door is in sight but seems so far away—the sooner he gets another one of those pills down his neck the better. He wheels the bike and begins to lean it against the wall. No. If someone should see it ... He takes a breath as another wave of pain spreads through his shins and upwards to his knees then rises through his thighs.
Fumbling in his pocket, he reaches for the strip of tablets Janet had given him and hobbles to the kitchen grabbing the half-drunk bottle of water. He pops two pills and downs them with one mouthful of water. They catch in his throat and their bitterness makes him gag. He swallows another mouthful of water and they disappear into his stomach. Hobbling to the living room he lies on the settee—the leather is cool, the cushion soft on his head. He waits and listens to the birdsong as the Tramadol enters his bloodstream.
Still raw from this morning’s horrors, he startles when a loud scratch sounds outside. Heart tapping a heavy rhythm against his ribs, he pushes himself up on his elbows to listen.
Scratch!
Birds! Just the house martins that were nesting under the eaves.
He lays back against the cushion and closes his eyes. Flames. Screams. Stinking, singeing flesh and hair. Eyes snap open and he focuses on the white paint of the ceiling, rubbing at his forehead as pain pulses inside the back of his head. He takes another sip of water. The bastards deserved what they got. But it’s stuck in your head now. Never mind, you’ll get over it. He takes a breath and his muscles begin to relax. He groans and gives himself over to the Tramadol, letting its chemicals soothe him and pull him down into the darkness of a deep, drug-induced sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As Jessie reaches the brow of the hill she spots them—five figures walking in the distance: mother, sister, Andy, Clare and Bill. They turn as they hear the noise of the bike’s engine and she can’t help but smile. They won’t guess it’s her. Alex rides just behind her and not too far behind Uri and Viktoria are travelling in the car. There’s enough space on the bikes and in the car to fit everyone in. Getting to Bramwell will be a cinch now.
As she slows to a stop beside the group Bill steps forward. His eyes are lively and a huge smile breaks out across his face, white teeth among his thick copper beard. He’s the only one who looks anywhere near energetic. The rest look worn, reflecting the strain of the last days and the long journey on foot. Andy’s face is pinched and his eyes puffy from lack of sleep. His shoulders sloped, arms limp. There’s a sourness to his face she hasn’t noticed before and, next to Bill, he looks positively flabby. Her mother smiles even though she must be worn-through with tiredness. Bill stands back, hands on hip, grinning. Being tested like this obviously suits him. She returns his smile. His eyes have that same strength that she’d seen in Captain Riley’s and ... her father’s. ‘True colours, Jessie,’ is what he would have said. ‘That’s when you’ll see a man’s true colours—when he’s tested, when he’s pushed beyond endurance.’
“You made it then, gal!” Bill says with a smile stepping up and walking around the bike.
“Yep.”
The soft breeze is cooling and as she dismounts, the air heavy with the scent of the yellow rape flowers that fill the fields, a sea of yellow waiting to be harvested and pressed into oil. She begins to relax, relieved to be free of the helmet. Her sister and mother are safe and it won’t take them long to get to Bramwell.
“A Triumph Bonneville!” Bill exclaims as he walks around the bike. “The old ones are the best. Proper British bike this one—won’t let you down.”
“It started first time.”
“Been looked after. Proper engineering. None of this electronic shite that goes belly-up the first time the sun zaps us!” He walks full circle then steps back admiringly. “Been fully restored. What a beauty.”
“It’s just an old bike,” Andy grumbles as he joins them. “I prefer cars—you don’t get wet when you’re driving a car.”
“Never been on a bike, Andy?” Bill asks with a hint of derision.
“No, and never want to either. Four wheels are better than two.”
Bill scoffs and turns back to the bikes, crouching to admire the Triumph’s engine.
“Beautiful.” He stands and takes a step back. “I did Route Sixty-Six a few years ago, well ... hell, it must be seven at lea-” He stops and cocks his head. In the distance an engine thrums across the noiseless hills.
“Sounds like someone’s managed to get a car going.”
The group falls silent as they listen to the drone of the engine.
“It’ll be Uri and Viktoria,” Alex explains. “I thought we’d lost them at one point, Jess.”
“We did lose them—at the last junction. Perhaps they stopped off for a comfort break—for the kid?”
“Who?” Andy asks peering down the road as he steps next to Jessie. Body odour, strong and sour, hangs in their air as he shields his eyes.
“Uri and Viktoria. They came with us from the city.”
He knocks against her shoulder as he takes another step forward. He seems unsteady. “You alright, Andy? Do you need to sit down, or have a drink?”
“No!” he replies with a hint of irritation still squinting into the distance.
Jessie ignores his rudeness. The past days have been tough and she’s not about to take umbrage if he’s snappy, it just wasn’t worth the confrontation.
The hum of the engine grows louder and within another minute the yellow Ford Escort rolls into view.
Bill is suddenly alert. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
“It’s them,” Alex confirms.
“Everyone—stay together.” Bill walks to the front. “Keep behind the bikes.”
“It’s OK,” says Jessie as the group becomes tense watching the car move closer and then pull off the road onto the verge twenty feet away. “It’s just a family that we helped back in the city. I said they could travel with us.”
“You didn’t tell them where we were going did you?” Andy asks as he peers along the road.
“No. I just said that they could travel with us. It was safer for us all to travel together.”
“Do they have anywhere to go?”
“I don’t know but the city isn’t safe.”
“The sooner we get to Bramwell the better,” Clarissa adds as the car pulls up.
“We’ve got enough people already, Clarissa. Do you have enough food for more and will there be enough bed-” Andy’s complaints come to an abrupt halt as the car door opens and Uri steps out.
Bill stares at the car, his body suddenly tense, hands on hips. Her mother makes an odd mewling and clutches at Andy’s hand. Jessie looks from the terror that has fixed over her mother’s face to the set frown on Bill’s to the disbelief in Andy’s and fear clutches at her belly.
“It’s him,” her mother whispers. Her voice trembles as she stares at the blond.
“Who?” Jessie asks following their horrified stares back to the young family.
“Stay calm, everyone,” Bill commands scanning the area then quickly returning his stare to Uri. He’s looking for cover!
“At the house.”
Bill pushes her mother behind his back forcing her to step towards a cluster of low-cut hawthorn that edges the yellow fields.
“Stella!” Bill calls. “Get behind your mother. Jessie, Alex—don’t let him out of your sights.”
Still confused she follows orders and watches Uri as Bill gives her mother and sister cover, his body blocking them from the man behind the car door. In his hand is a large knife.
“I’m not here to harm them,” Uri calls. His voice reverberates in the silence, seems to judder in the hot air.
“Oh, hell!” Jessie exclaims. It’s him! How the hell could this have happened? “Don’t move. Cover me.”
She slips off her rucksack keeping Uri in her sights, watching every movement. He doesn’t move and holds both hands high in a gesture of surrender. Viktoria stares from her husband to the small group of people. Now it made sense that he had a firearm. He’d mumbled something about being a bodyguard. Bullshit! He was the man who had tried to kill her mother. She pushes down the anger rising in her belly, the self-loathing for bringing him to her, and unzips her bag. He’s armed and if he fired they’d stand little chance, but she could make sure he knew she wasn’t about to let him kill her mother.
Viktoria stares from her husband to the small group of people. She seems less confused than Jessie would expect. She must know what her husband is. Angry that the woman has been part of the duplicity she wills her to stay put and not disappear back into the car as she slips the crossbow out of the bag. Viktoria steps back towards the car. Jessie has to act now. The bolt clips into place. “Alex, duck.” In one swift move Alex crouches down and Jessie raises her crossbow aiming it directly at Viktoria’s head.
BILL STEPS FORWARD. “Move away from the car,” he shouts at the Russian. “Keep your hands where I can see them or your wife won’t see another day.”
Uri moves back without complaint though anger flashes across his face.
“That’s right. Back away. Now, drop your weapon.”
“I have no weapon.”
“Left side,” Jessie reports to Bill and takes a step towards Viktoria.
“I said drop your weapon.”
“OK!”
“Slowly!”
Uri reaches into his jacket.
“OK!” he barks.
“Give it to them, Uri,” Viktoria calls as she clutches their daughter to her chest.
“Don’t worry, darling.”
“Give it to them!”
“OK!”
He retrieves the gun slowly and lets it dangle from his fingers then places it on the bonnet of the car. Bill strides across, reaches for it slowly, grabs it then steps backwards keeping his eyes on Uri, noticing every move Viktoria makes.
“Now. I am unarmed. I mean you no harm.”
“Tell it to the judge.”
“Judge?”
“Step away from the car and walk back up the road.”
“But my family-”
“Take them with you.”
Viktoria takes a tentative step back and Jessie nods. “Go with him.”
The child cries as Viktoria runs to her husband. They stand as a tight group.
“Where will they go?” Clarissa asks as Uri soothes the child. “Have they got supplies. They have a child, Bill-”
“He tried to kill you, Clarissa. He’s a trained killer.”
“I know—and that scares me to death, but ... but the child is innocent, and his wife ... they just look like a normal family.”
“Normal they ain’t.”
“No, but they’re in the same boat as we are.”
“How’s that?”
“They’re struggling to survive and you heard what Jessie said about the city—people are being murdered in the streets. I couldn’t live with myself if that child was ... if anything happened to her.”
“Hell, lady,” Bill exclaims.
“You’ve got his gun—he’s unarmed.”
“Yes, but he’s still dangerous.”
“Clarissa’s right,” Andy interrupts. “It’s dangerous back in the city—the child could get hurt.”
“Everyone back to the hedge,” Bill commands. No one would hurt them whilst Bill was around.
Satisfied that Clarissa is behind him along with Clare and Andy he strides across to Uri though keeps a safe distance. They certainly didn’t look dangerous. The man’s face is drained of colour and there’s dark soot around his nostrils. He looks drawn and t
ired despite his obvious strength.
“Please,” the Russian says as Bill reaches them and points the gun at the woman’s head. “My family—my daughter—she’s been through so much. Please put the gun down. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
“Uri?” The woman’s face is ashen and a worried frown creases her brow. “Who are these people?”
“A job that went wrong,” Bill answers for him.
The woman nods. She understands. She’s part of it all.
“Yes, a job that went wrong” Uri agrees. “A job I no longer will fulfil,” he continues locking his eyes to Bill’s.
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
The child turns at the sound of his angry voice. Like her father, her face is drained of colour and soot-stained, white where tears have made tracks down her cheeks. Uri strokes at her bright blonde hair. Just a father trying to soothe his child. She can’t be more than three years old.
“Is she hungry?”
“Clarissa! I told you to stay back there—it’s not safe-”
“We mean you no harm,” Viktoria adds quickly.
“We’ll go back to the last town,” Uri says as the child whimpers. “Perhaps we can find food there.”
“I’ve got food—at my house.”
“Clarissa!”
“It’s alright, Bill,” Clarissa soothes.
“But he’s a kill-”
“Please!” Viktoria blurts holding her hands over the child’s ears.
“Sorry,” Bill apologises. What the hell? I’m the one apologising? “There’s probably not enough food for us all,” he continues.
“There is,” Clarissa counteracts.
What is wrong with this woman? Doesn’t she realise how dangerous this man is?
“Come back to my house. I can make warm soup and hot bread.”
Bill’s stomach growls.
“Clarissa,” he whispers as she smiles at Viktoria. “This man wanted to kill you just the day before yesterday. He’s tried it twice.”
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 29