by Guy N Smith
Even now Richardson was scared of what his own ultimate fate might be. His only hope was to appease his master in whatever transpired tonight.
God, it stank in here, a putrid odour which came from Zinovsky, a stench akin to rotting human flesh. He heaved, only prevented himself from vomiting with a determined effort. He swallowed the bile which had risen in his throat. Even its taste reminded him of a decaying corpse.
It was cold too, like being out of doors on a frosty winter's night instead of a balmy summer one. Like the overpowering stench, he knew that it came from his passenger.
Jesus, he had a three-hour drive in front of him. Somehow, he had managed to set the sat nav for Rhayader, he knew that by turning off there on the mountain road it would take them straight to their destination. And what then? He preferred not to think about it.
There was little in the way of traffic on the road, something for which Richardson was grateful. Even so driving was not easy when he was virtually shaking with fear. On one occasion he hit the nearside kerb, the impact shaking the car.
‘Fool!’ It was the first time Zinovsky had spoken since they had left Lichfield, his tone reflecting his seething anger over Richardson giving Mayo the opportunity to foil their double plot.
He brought the car back under control, muttered an unintelligible apology for his error. Mile after mile, not exceeding 40mph. If a problem had materialised, he knew he could not have coped with it, but he consoled himself with the thought that satanic powers were not likely to encounter such a trivial happening.
Rhayader. Up ahead the headlights revealed a right turn. Now they were on the mountain road, serene and beautiful in the wan moonlight but also terrifying for Richardson in its loneliness.
He had already convinced himself that before this night was over he would die. It was the mode of death which scared him the most.
A sharp bend before the road sloped steeply downhill. Another misjudgement, the rear side wheels bumping on the grass verge. Zinovsky's lurch forward was held by the extremity of his seatbelt. An unintelligible curse, a blast of putrid breath which enveloped the driver. The wheels bounced along soft grass until they returned to the tarmac. The rear passenger was cursing, too, his teeth grinding.
‘If that happens again,’ Zinovsky's eyes seemed to glow like coals in a smouldering fire as he thrust his near skeletal face towards Richardson, ‘Baghdadi will drive because you will no longer be with us. Come dawn, the crow's will be feasting on your flesh!’
Richardson shuddered, the name was only too familiar to him, that of a leader of the Islamic State terrorist network who had been reported killed in Mosul, Iraq, some 5 years ago. Had he somehow secretly survived or was he another of the living dead?
Richardson's sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel. He slowed to 30mph. He could not afford another mistake.
Cwmystwyth. A road sign announced that they had arrived at their destination. Standing well back from the road on their right, a whitewashed cottage shone serenely in the moonlight.
‘Drive on and find a parking space off the road, preferably screened by trees,’ Zinovsky's order was terse like he, too, was feeling the mounting tension within the car. ‘Then, hopefully we will take those in that house by surprise. I want Mayo and the girl alive. They must suffer before they die!’
Chapter Fourteen
The bar of the Devil's Bridge Hotel was packed to capacity with tourists. Set on the main road to Aberystwyth it overlooked a steep valley with the river below, a favourite haunt of Walkers who wanted to explore the sheer beauty of this place, a haven for wildlife.
In the far corner of the large bar room a young couple relaxed after a tiring trek in the mountains. Adrian Chambers had recently been made redundant from his job in the Birmingham car industry. Tall with tousled fair hair and of muscular build, he was in his late twenties. The loss of his job which he had had since leaving school had come as something of a shock. All the same he opted for a redundancy payment rather than a transfer to another factory. He would not be sorry to leave the city with its high rate of air pollution and non-stop crawling traffic emitting dense fumes.
So he decided to take a short break, loaded his car with camping equipment and his barbeque and headed for the Welsh mountains.
On a visit to Aberystwyth he had met Louise whilst relaxing on the crowded beach. Petite with short dark hair, she had recently broken off from her boyfriend and, like himself, was taking a break from her home in Dudley in an attempt to reorganise her life. She had no intention of returning to her job as a boring shop assistant.
Thus, they had much in common, lying on the warm sand and chatting. Towards early evening he had asked her if she fancied going for a drink with him.
‘That would be nice,’ was her instant reply.
‘Let's go back up the valley,’ he suggested, ‘to Devil's Bridge. There's a nice hotel there.’
‘Fine’ she smiled and began folding up her towel. ‘I really could do with a complete change.’
On the way back to his parked car his hand found hers. Her fingers squeezed his. His pulse raced.
They found a vacant table in the corner of the bar room and sipped wine in an uneasy silence.
‘What are your plans now you've left your job and don't fancy returning to the Midlands?’ he asked at length.
Louise shrugged her shoulders. ‘I've no real plans right now,’ she answered. ‘I came up on the train and I've booked in at a B&B at Borth. I'll have to give some thought to the future, maybe find a holiday job for the summer and then see where I go from there.’
‘Much the same with me,’ he glanced out of the window, dusk was already creeping in. ‘Have you eaten today?’
‘Just a sandwich.’
‘Same here. Tell you what,’ he hesitated, ‘I've got my barbecue in the car and some burgers. How do you fancy a moonlight barbeque up in the hills? It's a warm night and we could sit and admire the moonlight view of the valley.’
‘Sounds great!’ Her reply was instant. He refrained from adding that they could camp up there. He would suggest that later. Right now, his pulse was racing.
Half an hour later found them parked up past the old slate workings where the woodlands began. There was a well-worn track leading uphill. He hoisted the barbecue under his arm, gave Louise the carrier bag of food to carry.
It was a lengthy trek but eventually they reached the open moorland. Below, the winding river sparkled in the moonlight.
‘Fantastic!’ Louise breathed, sat down in the heather to regain her breath. ‘This really was a splendid idea of yours.’
He busied himself setting up the barbecue on a small area of level dry heather.
‘Beef, pork or chicken?’ he asked, slicing some rolls.
‘Chicken, please.’
Before long an appetising aroma wafted and they were sitting eating, each with their own thoughts.
‘God, I'm tired.’ She laid back, stretched.
‘Same here.’ He lowered himself down beside her.
Behind them, the coals in the barbecue were glowing red, sparking in the faint breeze.
Before long, his lips found hers and received a responsive lingering kiss.
‘I could go and fetch the tent,’ he stated.
‘It's a warm night,’ she wriggled her body up against his own. ‘Let's relax, we can always go back later.’
His hand eased up her blouse, closed gently over a breast. She was not wearing a bra and the nipple between his fingers was hard and erect. She made no move to push him away, groaned softly as he undid the buttons on her blouse.
Now he was stroking both breasts, moving from one to the other. Her eyes were closed. He lowered his head, his tongue protruded, and he flicked it; her nipple hardened still further. His lips closed over one, sucked it, moved to the other.
Her whole body quivered; her head was back. Somewhat hesitantly he lifted her short skirt. Much to his surprise, and delight, he saw that she was not wearing any underwear.
Her thighs moved, opened, and he viewed well-trimmed pubic hair which afforded him an unrestricted view of the soft pink flesh beneath. It was oozing moisture, warm to his touch.
He stroked it and then his probing finger penetrated her. A gasp of delight came from her. She was urging him on, desperate to go even further. She eased herself up so that he could slide her blouse off, followed by her skirt.
She was stark naked, her legs spread wide. That was when he reared up, removed his own clothing, cast it aside.
As he knelt between her legs, she lifted a hand, sought his throbbing erection and guided it down where she wanted it.
A slow penetration had her whimpering her delight, pushing herself at him until their pubics met. At first it was a slow thrusting, his member sliding back and forth bringing squeals of delight from her. Then they speeded it up and both were writhing in orgasms, touching each other, shuddering in the heather beneath them.
Finally, it subsided, and they lay there, kissing and murmuring how marvellous it had been. Adrian withdrew slowly, his erection softening but still she kept a hold on it.
‘Can we go again?’ she whispered, rubbing it.
‘Shortly,’ he replied. ‘I'm sure I can make it again.’
Which he did. Then they were lying together, drowsy and slipping into an exotic sleep where togetherness predominated.
A warm breeze had begun to sweep the mountains, rustling the undergrowth. Behind Adrian and Louise the coals in the barbecue began to glow redly, some were sparkling. Then came a sudden gust of wind which fanned the embers, sent a small cloud of sparks into the air. They landed in the tinder, dry growth beneath, wisps of smoke coming from it, tiny flames taking hold, starting to spread in all directions.
Adrian and Louise slept on, his hand resting between her naked thighs, her fingers still encircling his limp organ. Then came the start of an erotic dream.
Behind and above them, flames from the displaced barbecue fire had taken hold, were leaping and spreading, crackling.
Adrian stirred, smelled smoke, coughed.
‘What is it?’ Louise relinquished her hold on him, sat up.
‘I… I…’ the crackling fire was growing by the second. ‘The bloody hill's on fire!’
He dragged her up onto her feet. Both stared in horror at the blaze which was rapidly devouring everything in its path, heading towards them. The heat was intense.
‘We can't go back down the track,’ there was panic in his voice. ‘We'll have to go down through the woods, hope we can find a route. Come on!’
The naked pair fled towards the nearby trees at the area, heedless of the twigs and stones which gouged their feet. It was an awesome, terrifying sight behind them, they dared not look back at the pursuing inferno.
Running, stumbling. If it had not been a moonlit night they would have had no chance of making it to safety.
They emerged into a sizable clearing surrounded by bent and twisted silver birch trees, bright moonlight revealing every detail.
‘There's a track leading out there,’ Adrian pointed with one hand, held Louise tightly to him with the other. ‘Let's go…’
His voice trailed off, something had moved out of the bracken opposite, a sizable animal. It was not one of the sheep which grazed these hills, it was far too big, and the wrong colour, black. Its head lowered, momentarily screened from them, until it reared up and stepped out into a clear patch of moonlight.
‘What... whatever is it?’ There was a hint of fear in Louise's voice.
‘I… I… it's... it's a wild boar!’
The creature was stationary, head up raised as it regarded the two humans with eyes which reflected the moonlight and appeared to glow. Its posture was more than just curiosity. It was one of anger at those who had dared to trespass in its domain.
Adrian's mouth was dry. Behind them a raging fire was fast catching up with them, in front of them a fearsome animal of the wild barred their escape route.
‘What... what are we going to do Adrian? Louise whispered, trembling.
‘Well, if that fire catches us up, we'll be burnt to cinders,’ his voice shook. ‘So, I guess we have to chance that boar. I've read that they mostly avoid humans, just sneak away. Come on, we don't have any alternative.’
They walked forward hesitantly. Some thirty yards in front of them, the boar stood its ground. Clearly this one had no intention of slipping away and making itself scarce.
Then, without warning, it lowered its head and launched into a fast, lumbering charge.
Louise screamed. Adrian grabbed her around the waist, pulled her behind him, a futile effort to shield her. An instinctive glance on the ground at his feet, a hopeless search for a weapon of some kind but there was nothing. He shouted, waved his free arm, a useless gesture.
The boar had its head down, its huge tusks protruding, its feet drumming, faster and faster, a bundle of hate and fury for those two humans.
Bone cracked on bone, Adrian's leg broken instantly, throwing the pair of them down in a heap. Without slowing, it did an incredible turnabout for its size and then it was upon them.
Its tusks stabbed, penetrated tender flesh, dug deep. Blood spouted; more bones snapped. Louise’s screams were silenced as her throat was torn open, Adrian's loins were gouged, penis and testicles catapulted into the air.
Silence apart from the snorting of the enraged beast. Then its head went down and its powerful jaws began to rip at the soft flesh, munching and slurping at the feast which it had been gifted in this lonely place.
Only when its hunger had been satisfied did it raise its blood soaked snout to the heavens as if thanking the dark gods for this gift.
Its nose wrinkled, it smelled the smoke from the advancing inferno, heard the crackling of blazing undergrowth. It was time to be gone.
It loped along a hidden track known only to itself and gambled downhill in the direction of Cwmystwyth.
Chapter Fifteen
John Mayo knew that it was time to be gone from the cottage. There was no doubt in his mind that Zinovsky and some of his companions would be arriving before dawn, enraged and seeking to vent a terrible revenge upon him for foiling the Lichfield massacres.
His .38 was in his pocket, loaded with silver bullets. His crucifix dangled from his neck down inside the dark shirt. Over his arm was a folded blanket for, wherever he stationed himself up there in the small wood, it would be bitterly cold even on a summer night.
He locked the door behind him for all the good it would do, possibly a delaying tactic. He pitied the Jones family for they would probably lose their lovely remote home before this night was over.
He arrived at the edge of the steep silver birch spinney, turned and looked back down on the white-washed cottage, clearly visible in the moonlight and the road beyond it.
Certainly, this was an excellent vantage point, no movement below would escape him. The only question was where to station himself. It was likely to be a long night. Maybe nothing untoward would happen. Of course it would, he reminded himself. By now Zinovsky would have discovered that the bomb planted by the cathedral had been rendered harmless and there would be no prizes for guessing who was responsible. His fury and desire for revenge would know no bounds. Richardson would give him the address of Gemma's Welsh home and that would be his first port of call.
A stunted oak tree, its branches twisted by gales over the years, grew on the fringe of the wood. Ideal, Mayo decided, the centre was no more than six feet above the ground, basket shaped and providing an ideal place to sit and wait. It offered a suitable view and he was safer up aloft if they came looking for him.
It took but a couple of minutes to haul himself aloft and then he settled down for a long wait. The atmosphere cooled as the night progressed, so he wrapped the blanket around himself. His handgun was within easy reach if it was needed. This time he would not hesitate to shoot Zinovsky. The building below was beyond the range of the .38 so he would need to wait until that vile perpetrator of unspeakable
evil embarked upon a search of the immediate area. He could not afford to make a mistake and reminded himself that the other was reputed to have connections with the Dark Powers.
The night wore on. He listened for the sound of an approaching vehicle but not a single car passed along the distant road below. His vigil could well be a complete waste of time. All the same he did not relax for a moment.
Suddenly he detected a whiff of smoke in the atmosphere. It was coming from the western side of these mountains, obviously some distance away. A moorland fire? There had been several in the Welsh Hills since this spell of dry weather had begun. Most were started by the heat of the sun on a piece of broken glass. But not during the night hours. Arson?
If a raging moorland fire headed this way then Mayo knew that he would be forced to abandon his vigil and seek safety elsewhere.
Then he heard a movement some distance behind him in the woodlands, a rustling of the undergrowth, a crackling of fallen twigs on the ground. It could be a fox or maybe a deer which had smelled the smoke and was moving to a safer area. It was definitely heading in his direction.
It was impossible to discern anything in the darkness of this woodland. The rustling and cracking was intermittent like whatever animal it was preceded cautiously, stopping and listening every so often.
Suddenly a huge shape emerged some fifty yards to Mayo's left, only just discernible in the shadows cast by the trees behind it. It was big, certainly neither fox nor badger .... nor a deer. What the hell was it?
It moved out onto the open ground, now clearly visible in a shaft of moonlight. It was a wild boar!
Well, he supposed, it wasn't as strange as it might have been. There were wild boar in Wales and this one had obviously been inhabiting the uplands. That fire had obviously caused it to vacate its habitat.
The smell of burning in the air was stronger. If the fire was sweeping towards this place, then he would have no option but to vacate his vigil.