Anhur

by Wayne Marinovich

  Jonathan rushed over and grabbed it from him. ‘What are you doing? You’ve been sober for more than a year.’

  Paul felt like his heart was going to stop. He wiped sweat from his temple and walked over to the fan. Switching it on, he leaned forward, placing his face only inches away.

  ‘What is it? Please tell me what is happening,’ Jonathan said, walking over to him. ‘I thought the Hooded Man was just one of those myths you rambled on about.’

  ‘Well he’s not,’ Paul said, sitting down at his desk again. He looked at Jonathan and saw genuine innocence in his eyes. ‘He’s a mercenary, who has been exacting revenge on the NAG and NEG for years, blaming them for the loss of his family.’

  Jonathan pulled a small stool over from a large bookcase. ‘How do you know all this? Is he the person who keeps calling you here? I know that you’re hiding things from me when you take those mysterious calls.’

  ‘I’m one of Sharon’s informants. I’ve been chronicling his movements over the past five years, to document the history of the New America. People call me, and I make notes which I pass on to her.’

  ‘What?’ Jonathan said, looking at the door then across to the open window. He ran over and bolted them shut. ‘We have to leave here as soon as we can. Those men will come for us next.’

  ‘Don’t be a silly boy. We must stay and continue our work.’

  ‘But that’s madness. They could torture her, get your name and be here in a few hours to take us prisoner.’

  ‘Calm down and stop being ridiculous. She won’t tell them about us.’

  ‘How can you be so sure, you hardly know her.’

  Paul took a deep breath. A smile came over his face as he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. ‘The DJ called her Sharon, but her real name is Sarah. She won’t tell them anything because she’s my daughter.’

  Jonathan’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘She’s met the Hooded Man on a few occasions and knows what’s at stake. She will take it to her grave although I hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  Chapter 5

  University Medical Centre, Knoxville, Tennessee, USA - 2043

  Springs squeaked as the prisoner rolled over in the old army bunk that was pushed up against the stone wall. The smell of the used toilet bucket stung John Smithfield’s throat, and he rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. Smithy, as he was called from back in his SAS days, clenched his teeth and blinked his eyes. Guarding the converted prison was not his job. He was a warrior who was needed upon the perimeter wall. Turning back, he faced the makeshift welded square-tubing bars, a second prisoner staring back at him from within the cell.

  ‘Give us a smoke, boss,’ said the man, dressed in brown combat pants and a black t-shirt. He had a black beard that hid a scar across his neck. Sweat beaded on his bald head, and he sniffed hard with his cocaine nose. ‘Just a half will do.’

  ‘Shut up, McCarthy,’ Smithy said and looked across to the warden, who was sleeping in a leather chair. The young man wore a red armband indicating his rank within the University Medical Centre or UMC enclave. A rank equivalent to a corporal in the British Army. Smithy missed those early days of the decaying century where everyone still had respect for rank and experience.

  McCarthy stood up and walked towards the bars. ‘Please, can I have a cigarette? You took all my drugs, and I need something to stop the shakes.’

  ‘Ask your friend in there with you.’

  The other prisoner, who wore leather pants and had a ripped white shirt, rolled over on the bunk, flipping Smithy the middle finger. The man’s face had black tattoos and charcoal drawings covering his cheeks.

  ‘He ain’t my friend,’ McCarthy said, looking back. ‘He’s a 38 Roadster. They don’t have friends. If he talks to you, you either work for him, or you’re about to meet your Maker.’

  The gang member grinned and gave McCarthy the thumbs up.

  ‘What a load of bullshit,’ Smithy said. ‘He wailed like a baby when we caught him.’

  ‘You don’t know who he is, do you?’ McCarthy said. ‘These boys always come looking for one of their own, but for this little prince, they’ll tear this hamlet apart.’

  ‘And we’ll be waiting. It should be a lot of fun,’ Smithy said, turning to walk to the main door. He opened it and leant up against the wooden frame.

  The dry heat drained his lungs as he squinted in the bright sun. Lifting his sunglasses to his eyes, he scanned the courtyard outside. To the right of him was the old University Medical Centre hospital. It now served as an accommodation block for the more wealthy UMC enclave residents. To the left was a narrow admin building that was now used as the canteen and school for what few children had survived the Kharon epidemic. Through the gap between the buildings towered the perimeter fence that had been constructed to encircle the whole enclave. It was cleverly designed, using the surrounding buildings and landscape to create a haven for the thousand Floodlanders who lived here. Life here was about surviving each day, and these folks were tough enough to do it.

  Movement caught his eye. Smithy looked at the figure of the Hooded Man, who approached across the dusty courtyard. Brown combat pants tucked into faded black boots they all wore. He was dressed in a dark brown jacket with combat webbing over it. Grenades hung from the webbing, and two Glock 17s were in holsters on his hips. Draped across his back was a shotgun, which clanked against the hunting knife Smithy knew was tucked into the back of the man’s pants. He had pulled the scarf and goggles down around his neck again and now wore black sunglasses.

  ‘That’s him walking towards us, isn’t it?’ McCarthy asked from behind. ‘He’s coming here? Wow. I get to meet the man.’

  Smithy raised a finger to his lips.

  ‘I bet he’ll allow me to have a smoke. He is so generous and does so much for everyone. Unlike you.’

  ‘Shut it, McCarthy,’ Smithy said and closed the door behind him.

  He looked down at the gas mask that the Hooded Man wore attached to his combat belt. A smile broke out on the lined and chiselled face. A tough exterior honed from a life of fighting. A man of fifty-three, who could tackle anyone half his age and twice his strength.

  ‘Hey, Gibbs,’ Smithy said.

  Kyle Gibbs took off his sunglasses. ‘Hi, mate. How’s our prisoner?’

  ‘Resting like he hasn’t a care in the world. McCarthy tells me he’s someone important in the 38s.’

  ‘Great. We could use a little luck. The western perimeter fence is under attack again. A few gang members in two fusion vans are causing mischief.’ Gibbs rubbed his short grey hair, sweat flicking off it onto the dry ground.

  ‘You get a haircut then?’

  ‘Yeah. Mrs Kelly did it for me.’

  ‘Let me guess. You didn’t pay for it.’

  Gibbs smiled.

  ‘I suppose you did save her husband from being gutted by those Scavengers.’

  ‘These fuckers are getting braver. We need to find out where the 38s are being run from pretty damn quickly.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘Have you been asleep for the past few weeks? We’re going to get her back, then kill the leader and be off. I’ve had enough of all of this shit.’

  ‘You can’t retire now, mate. These folks need you too much.’

  ‘That’s just the bloody point. There are always people who need our help. All the bleeding time,’ Gibbs said and walked to the door. ‘Once we’re finished here and have Maddy back, I’m taking the boy and heading down to South America.’

  Smithy raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  • • •

  The smell got to him first as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark prison. Gibbs looked at the dishevelled prisoner standing behind the bars, then across to the warden who was starting to wake up. The young man scrambled to get to his feet, knocking his rifle to the floor. He blinked a few times, picked up the rifle and walked forward, rubbing his nose as a toothless grin spread across his face once he rec
ognised who’d entered the room.

  ‘Let me have the room for a few minutes,’ Gibbs said.

  The young man nodded and rushed past him. Smithy closed and locked the door behind him.

  Gibbs walked over to a broken desk and picked up a keyring with two keys on it. Walking towards the cell door, he looked at the man. ‘You’re McCarthy, right?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.’

  ‘I’m told you have information for me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I sure do.’

  The prisoner on the bunk rolled into an upright position. ‘Don’t tell them a bloody thing, McCarthy. There’s a bullet with your name on it if you do.’

  Gibbs looked past McCarthy to the man who had smudged the charcoal markings on his cheekbones.

  ‘I’ll get to you soon enough.’

  ‘Oh, I cannot wait, big boy.’

  Gibbs placed the key in the cell gate and unlocked it with a heavy turn. The door popped open, and he reached in and grabbed McCarthy by his shirtfront.

  ‘Let’s have a chat out here then. You know, where you won’t feel intimidated.’

  ‘Don’t say a bloody word, McCarthy. I’m warning you,’ the man said, a feminine lilt in his voice.

  ‘Wait your turn, or I can always send Smithy in there to keep you company, and he doesn’t play nice,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Yes please,’ Smithy said. ‘He doesn’t need all his fingers and toes.’

  Gibbs leaned forward towards McCarthy. ‘Feel free to tell me anything you want.’ The man started to whisper in his ear.

  The prisoner inside the cell jumped up and ran to the front bars. He thumped the bars twice, the rattling sound echoing in the small room. ‘You’re dead, McCarthy. Dead. You know who I am and what I can do to you.’

  Smithy took a step forward lifting his L85Z submachine gun. ‘Please make another sudden movement like that, you piss-ant. I’ll decorate your insides with lead.’

  The prisoner stepped back and walked over to his bunk.

  ‘Thank you very much indeed, McCarthy,’ Gibbs said. ‘That is most helpful.’

  ‘My pleasure, Gibbs. Happy to help. I’m off to the canteen because the food in this weird hotel is crap,’ he said and walked out of the room.

  Gibbs walked to the door of the cell and opened it, stopping in the doorway. ‘Well, Luka. You have been a chatty Cathy, now haven’t you? What would Rebus Maze have to say about you spilling all your dirty little secrets to McCarthy there?’

  ‘I don’t know any Rebus. That man is an addict and will say anything to get a hit from you,’ Luka said.

  ‘Judging by how your hands are shaking, I’d say you have first-hand knowledge about being an addict.’

  Luka clasped his hands together, wringing them tightly.

  ‘In case you have any doubt that what McCarthy told me was true, here’s a little secret. He was a plant working for me. One of my finest men sent in here to get you talking, and confirming who you are.’

  Luka’s eyes widened. ‘Rubbish, he’s an addict. His hands shook worse than mine.’

  ‘McCarthy’s late brother was an addict, so he’s aware of all the symptoms that he needed to show to be convincing. Rebus won’t be happy with what you’ve divulged here. You are a bit of a gossip, aren’t you?’

  ‘Fuck you, Scavenger.’

  ‘Now, now, pretty boy. Play nicely, and we’ll return you to your friends. All I want to know is where Rebus is keeping Maddy. I want to reach out and do a prisoner exchange.’

  Luka stood up and walked towards Gibbs. ‘Who the hell is Maddy, and why should I care?’

  ‘Maddy is a blonde, eleven-year-old friend of ours, and you should care because if we cannot make the exchange, I’m going to hand you over to those Scavengers out there. They’d love to go to work on a 38 Roadster, without his friends to hide behind.’

  ‘And why should I know her?’

  ‘You were in one of the two fusion trucks that attacked our small convoy. She was thrown from the car and scooped up by the other truck while my men smashed up your vehicle. So now they have Maddy, and we have you. That predicament does not sit well with me.’

  Luka’s shoulders started to shake then he burst out into hysterical laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny, arsewipe?’ Smithy asked.

  ‘Rebus has a taste for the young, and right now is probably mounting her like some calf in the field.’

  Gibbs swung a right hook to the side of Luka’s face, snapping his head to the side. Before his eyes could focus, a left smashed into the centre of his blackened face. A crash rang out as he fell back onto the toilet bucket, which slipped out to the left off him. Gibbs walked inside and grabbed the half-empty bucket, pouring the contents over the man.

  ‘You will pay for this,’ Luka screamed as he frantically wiped the excrement off his face, blood pouring out of his nose. ‘Rebus will come for me and make you all pay.’

  Gibbs locked the cell door. ‘Good. It saves me having to go out and look for him in Maryville.’

  Luka looked upwards, wiping the muck from his face.

  ‘You don’t remember telling McCarthy that, do you. What else did you tell him that you weren’t supposed to reveal? Get some sleep now. I’ll get a message to your boyfriend that you’re missing him.’

  ‘He’s going to kill all of you, in painful ways that’ll make you wish Satan came to your rescue,’ Luka said.

  ‘Been to Hell already and know the tour guide quite well,’ Gibbs said, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt. ‘I hope that Rebus comes so I can rid the world of another maniac. Don’t forget, pretty boy. It’s what we do.’

  Gibbs walked out the door and down the steps. Smithy followed. The cracked concrete path had brick paving on either side that hadn’t been scavenged yet, which seemed strange. People in the enclaves did have it a little easier than the Scavengers outside, but not by much. Dust blew across his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his scarf from his neck up over his mouth. Both men stopped, lowering their heads until the gust blew through.

  ‘You think that Rebus will come for this prick?’ Smithy said, shaking the sand from his short hair.

  ‘If McCarthy’s right, we’ll have them at the gates soon enough.’

  ‘We’ve just dealt with that Nomadic gang. Do you think the people here can handle another one?’

  ‘They won’t have any choice in the matter. We’re all tired of this, but these maniacs have to be sent back from where they came.’

  ‘Only to be replaced with a crazier crew,’ Smithy said.

  ‘Yes, but the warlord here said the number of attackers keeps dwindling, so we’re having some effect.’

  Smithy shrugged and shook his head. He looked across towards Toby who was growling at a turkey vulture that had landed on the concrete wall to their left.

  ‘You got something to say?’ Gibbs said. ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘We’ve been going over this shit for the past ten years.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘You can’t erase the past by trying to kill every gang member out there. It was always going to have consequences.’

  ‘What are you on about now?’

  Smithy shook his head and started to walk off towards the admin area before turning back. ‘You feel guilty for not killing Butler when you had the chance. I understand that, I really do, but you need to leave that in the bloody past now.’

  ‘You saying I should forget everything?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, I mustn’t think about the man who escaped to cut off Stuart’s finger, then killed his mother, the only woman I’ve ever loved. What about the billions of people who died because of Butler’s psychotic dream to halve the human population with Kharon?’

  ‘I was there, remember,’ Smithy said. ‘I’ve lost people too. You have to focus on Stuart now and how he grows up. You can’t control this new world. You can only help him to deal with the present day. If not, what
is your purpose here?’’

  ‘To ensure that we kill the gang lords and split up their gangs.’

  ‘Which is what we’ve been doing for the last ten years. Don’t you think you’ve done your bit yet?’

  ‘Maybe, but Maddy and Stuart have become like brother and sister, so I need to get her back for his sake as well as hers. Be good to have a settled life once we’re finished with this business.’

  ‘Settle down?’ Smithy said. ‘Sounds like a great idea. You can start by getting yourself a wife and getting yourself some on a regular basis. Might make you less grumpy.’

  Gibbs flipped him the middle finger. ‘Pot. Kettle. Black. Now shut up and let’s see what the canteen is whipping up for lunch.’

  Chapter 6

  Eagleton Village, Maryville, Tennessee, USA – 2043

  ‘The dogs took an hour to kill and devour the last general who failed me,’ Rebus said, sitting in his tatty leather wingback chair. Mottled light filtered through the broken perspex roof panels that lined the overhang of the old factory roof. Rebus’s giant motorhome had been pulled into an open factory space to shelter it from the scorching sun and choking dust. Rain was not a frequent visitor anymore. Alongside Rebus stood Skink, who shifted his oddly shaped body from side to side. He licked his lips and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Rebus heard the sniffing of a cocaine addict behind him, and he ground his teeth. Turning to his nephew, he raised an eyebrow when the little man caught his eye.

  Standing in front of them was one of his 38 Street generals. A grey-haired man who’d served him since the beginning.

  ‘Well, general? Skink tells me that I’m not going to like what you have to tell me. I’m not sure which antagonises me more, the fact that you have bad news for me or that my nephew has got me anxious by forewarning me. Maybe I should cover both of you in pigs’ blood and feed you to the dogs.’