Stone Fist

by J. D. Weston

  The shivers set in as fits of body-shaking convulsions forced his body to stay alive, while his mind was far out to sea.

  “I considered it,” came the reply.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  There was a silence as an answer was sought.

  “I considered taking the journey with you.”

  “So why didn’t you?” he replied. “What better way to go than on your own terms with darkness above and darkness below, and nothing but the whispering wind to hear your confessions?”

  The boots slopped in the mud and stopped beside him. A dark shape loomed above, blacker than the night’s polluted sky.

  “I wanted to see you die,” came the reply.

  He laughed, a single laugh that sounded more like a breath.

  “I can’t remember the last time I laughed,” he said, and rested his head on the rotted, wooden post behind him. “It’s funny. It’s only when the end is near that you realise these things.”

  There was no reply, just the shape above him and beside him, unmoving.

  “How about you?” he said. “Who gets to watch you die? Surely there's someone who deserves to see that show?”

  “I could fill a room with people who deserve to watch me die, John,” said the man.

  “So why don’t you join me?” he said, and reached for a rock beside his leg at the limit of his constraint. It sucked at the mud as he dragged it close, and jarred when it found exposed bone. He breathed once, long and deep, then rolled it onto his lap. “Pull up a rock. The tide’s coming in.”

  But the dark shape beside him had vanished, and the cool bite of the water washed over his legs, broke, and then ran back to the river. With each wash of the water across his body, a renewed energy shook him with vigour as still, his body fought to stay alive while his mind welcomed the rising tide.

  He called out to the night but only the wind replied, seeking his confession with its whispering promise of death. With each whisper, the water rose higher, until it licked at the skin on his face, then receded to allow one more memory, one more confession and one more burst of lonely tears to leave him.

  At last, there were no more memories, no more stories of horror to confess, and his last remaining tear was washed away with the tide that swallowed him.

  19

  Reflection of the Beast

  The avenue of trees shielded the small congregation of mourners who stood beside the open grave among the fortunate dead, whose lives were celebrated and marked with statues of angels. The mood was sombre but few tears fell. Each member of the congregation waited patiently to shake Tyler’s hand or offer the estranged boy a hug before walking away and disappearing into the maze of graves. The minister was the last to leave. He placed his hand on Tyler’s shoulder and spoke a few unheard words. Tyler gazed past him into the hole in the ground, searching for some kind of answer, or a clue to where his life should lead.

  The fact was cold but true; he was free now to go wherever his heart would take him. He was no longer bound by the restraints of his dying mother. He was no longer the lifeline that brought her food and water, and worked to keep her warm and safe. He was no longer the lifter of spirits in those hideous dark days. The days when death had stepped closer and teased her until she tore at her skin with savage nails, frustrated, agonised, and tortured to the point of despair.

  But that wasn’t how she should be remembered.

  She deserved more. She was more than a dying woman who had demanded for her son to grow into a man, denying Tyler the final part of his childhood. She had been beautiful. The photos in their flat were proof that she was once full of vibrant life, strong and resilient. That was how she should be remembered.

  The minister, with his hands folded respectfully, stepped away with silence and grace, leaving Tyler to share a few silent moments with his mum. Remembering the good times, the laughs and her beauty, he stepped forward and fell to his knees. He closed his eyes, searching for a connection. A sign. Anything.

  He raised his face to the grey sky above, but no sunbeams broke through the clouds to warm his skin. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city behind the walls of the cemetery.

  He spoke his last goodbye then rose, turned and walked away. His lower lip was hidden beneath his front teeth and his eyes were narrow and dark. He was channelling the emotion, sending it to the pit of his stomach where the beast slept. One day, when the time was right and the beast opened its eyes, he would feed off that emotion. It would grow in size and strength, tamed, but deadly if not controlled.

  Familiar with the maze of the surrounding graves, Tyler took a slow walk past Mary, the angels and Jesus, who regarded him, unafraid, like an old friend. An old Celtic cross dating back to the eighteenth century, with two hundred years of moss and mould embedded into its hard surface, marked the turn. Soon enough, Tyler stood in front of his father’s bland grave marker. Only the other names of the shunned were witnesses to his grief.

  Once more, Tyler dropped to a crouch, then fell forward to one knee. His hand reached out to stop his fall and found the soft dirt that he’d so often cleared of weeds. His head fell forward too as if the muscles had succumbed to its weight. Then the tears came. They rolled across his tired skin, finding the lines on his face formed by sleepless nights, and channelled into a single drip, which fell onto the factory-stamped letters that formed his father’s name.

  Julios Saville.

  He sat for a long time in that position, hunched above a hidden memory of his father, and fighting for an image of them both together. He longed for a memory of his family, one of laughter and love. The image remained hidden if indeed it had ever existed. Only a reel of old photos played on repeat in his mind.

  Never before had Harvey felt such a connection to someone. Never before had he wanted so much to reach out and help somebody grieve as he had grieved and to share the burden of loss.

  A hand gripped his suit jacket. Another found the thin material of his new shirt and traced the outline of his chest with soft fingers. Her head fell against his back, letting him know she was there if he needed her.

  Something stirred inside his chest. It wasn’t the familiar, cold, sharp claws of the beast, but a warm, silky energy that found his veins and a single tear formed in the corner of his eye. His arm reached out, sliding around her waist and across the smooth material of her dress.

  “It’s time,” said Melody with a gentle squeeze.

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  End of Book Stuff

  Stone Army - Book Eleven- Chapter One.

  Headlights shone like two dying suns at the far reach of Gabriella’s vision, growing closer, burning brighter, and blinding her watering eyes. It was as if a searing needle had penetrated her visual organs and found the sensitive nerves cowering behind. Beneath her feet, the ground rumbled, silent but growing in intensity like the rising chaos of a stampede.

  She turned to face the sound of breaking branches, barking dogs and men’s voices, which had raised to a fever pitch. In the darkness of the forest, Gabriella saw torch beams cutting the night, leaving no escape except onwards across the railway tracks and into the unknown.

  A distant scream pierced the blackness somewhere far away. The barking of the dogs changed from the howl of an excited hunting pack to snappy snarls as they cornered their prey and pinned it to the ground.

  “Donna,” whispered Gabriella.

  A faint cloud formed when she spoke as the night air met her warm breath.

  Another scream sounded, followed by frantic struggles as somewhere in the darkness, her friend fought off the dogs. A dark image formed in Gabriella’s mind of the German Shepherds she had seen prowling the fenceline of the laboratory. She saw an image of the pack, excited by the hunt as they tore at Donna’s clothes, their teeth clamping down on her hands and arms, pulling her to the ground, their ferocity far outweighing that of the men who followed her with torchlights.

  In front of Gabriella, two sets of railway
tracks ran left to right from the coast to the mainland. Beyond the tracks, the ground fell away to fields and a forest columned by the night; dark outlines against a dark sky. Somehow, after her ordeal, the black unknown beyond seemed calm and safe in comparison to what lay behind. But something made her stand still. To cross the train lines and escape into the darkness would mean failure. But returning to the hunting dogs and torchlight men would mean certain death.

  Some voices called out to others that they’d found one. Gabriella still pondered, undecided. A single gunshot into the air, followed by the lighting of a flare, marked the spot. The searching torches turned and headed that way, bouncing through the dark forest. The flash of the muzzle and burning flare found its way to Gabriella’s watering eyes, registering enough danger to trigger the carnal instincts to run and find help. But fear of failure glued her to the spot.

  “We got one,” called a voice. “Find the other one. She went that way. She can’t be far.”

  That voice. The voice that taunted Gabriella’s drug-fueled dreams and darkened her miserable days.

  A torchlight span in a wide arc close by. It shone through the trees, tracing Gabriella’s path through the long grass and up onto the embankment where she stood, frozen to the spot. The vibration beneath her feet was accompanied by the grumble of an approaching train.

  The heavy pounding in Gabriella’s chest amplified the sound of her breathing in her ears. She could feel the drug working. Whatever it was, it fuelled the familiar rush of blood to her head, the invincible surge of energy that coursed through her body, and the trembling of what felt like every muscle in her body, holding her body taut like a runner on the starting blocks.

  A man broke through the trees. His beam of light cut the darkness like a long, straight snake. The dark form was unmistakable. Broad square shoulders. His head cocked to one side. The swagger of a man who feared nothing.

  That man.

  He was different to the others. He was cruel, with a voice that violated Gabriella and the girls, and with eyes that did more than undress her; they seemed to tear at her clothes just like the dogs tearing at Donna.

  His torchlight found Gabriella. It blinded her and fixed her to the spot. There was no need for words; she could sense his leering grin behind the light.

  In the distance, the dogs silenced, and a group of torchlights flashed in all directions as they began their hunt for Gabriella. The dark man in front of her glanced back as if he was considering calling out. But he changed his mind and returned his attention to his quarry.

  His prize.

  Gabriella took one step back. Her bare foot found the track, cold and hard, but buzzing with energy like the muscles in her body that tensed and relaxed with adrenaline.

  Gabriella held his stare. The man responded with a look, daring her with silent taunts to run and inviting her to him with unheard charm. He gave a flick of his eyes to the distant oncoming train. She saw his delight in the sight of her last remaining seconds on earth, half-naked, scared and broken.

  “It seems to me that you have three choices,” he said.

  An agonised scream came from the woods behind him. But it wasn’t a scream as Gabriella understood the word. It was more of the final, anguished wail of a tortured, dying girl, and a submission to death.

  “Three choices?” said Gabriella.

  She shunned the sound of her friend’s death from her mind, seeking solace in the growing rumble beneath her foot.

  “First choice,” said the man, “you can run. You can cross those tracks and run like you’ve got the devil on your heels and he’s mad as hell at you. But you won’t get far. I know those fields like I know the skin on my hand. I’ll find you before you even break for breath.”

  The concentrated torchlights in the forest dispersed as each of the men spread out to find Gabriella. A slice of light lit the side of the man’s face, revealing a knowing smile that he had her all to himself.

  Dogs barked in the trees to her left, where Gabriella had stripped and run through the freezing stream. The men called out, whooping with delight and joking that the last girl was already naked. Removing her clothes was intended to buy Gabriella time and throw the dogs from her scent. But the screams of Donna had stalled her escape.

  “Second choice,” said the man, “you can come down off the embankment. I’ll give you my coat and I’ll take you back. No-one will hurt you. I can assure you.”

  “Just like nobody hurt Donna?” said Gabriella.

  But the man responded with a shrug.

  Rounding the long bend, the headlights of the oncoming train swept across the trees, then lit one side of Gabriella’s body. The rumbling beneath her foot intensified, vibrating through her body, and the sound of the horn broke the night as if marking her two choices. Run or return.

  “And what’s option three?” she asked between horns, shouting above the noise of the approaching train.

  The torchlight flicked off.

  In the darkness, only shadows and dark shapes moved. The headlights of the train passed by the tree line, lighting only the grass, the tracks and Gabriella herself, growing wider as the train thundered closer.

  Another horn as the driver urged her to move.

  The ground shook with a pulse matching Gabriella’s heartbeat.

  But she stayed.

  A backward step would commit to the run, triggering the man and the dogs into action. A forward step would admit defeat. He’d take her into his lying, devilish arms and use her for the evil he’d been dreaming of since that first day. Then he’d kill her.

  But staying offered her only real chance of escape, to a place where even he could reach her.

  But death would mean failure.

  Another horn, louder and longer.

  The squeal of brakes as two hundred tons of steel anchored, spraying great washes of sparks into the forest.

  “Option three,” he said, appearing beside her from nowhere.

  He smiled the smile she’d seen a thousand times in her dreams, in her waking tortured days, and now, as death held her in its boney grip. The surprise caught her off guard. She stepped back, and stood between the tracks, where he seemed to dare not follow.

  With half his face lit by the approaching train, he leaned across to her with an outstretched hand. “Don’t be stupid, Gabriella. Come with me.”

  But Gabriella smiled and closed her eyes, letting peace find her, bringing with it the calm that allowed her to focus on cherished memories. She searched through her life in just a few seconds. An image of her father smiling in his garden, as he stopped turning the earth and leaned on his garden fork to admire her, fanning himself with his wide-brimmed hat. Her brother shooting her a wink as he led Gabriella from their home on one of their many adventures. She would sleep in the car. Francis would drive, then wake her up when they had reached the location. Each time it was a different location, carefully planned, and designed to enthrall young Gabriella. Sometimes it was the beach. Sometimes Francis would park at the top of a hill to look down at the rolling forests below. They would sit and drink coffee from a flask, perhaps eat a croissant.

  On one occasion, Francis had taken her to Paris to see the Christmas lights, but the memory was snatched away before she could relive the moment.

  “Gabriella,” called the man.

  Her name came to her as he haunted her last treasured moments on earth. The Paris lights blinked off. The images of her loved ones faded away, but without regret.

  The train horn sounded once more, loud and urgent.

  The beat of the tracks moved the ground on which she stood.

  And the drug that coursed through her body woke every living cell, firing energy into every single muscle.

  “Gabriella,” said the man, his hand clutching for her arm.

  Another loud horn. The headlights, as bright as the sun, held the two of them in limbo. The ground, the trees, the whole world, was white.

  His outstretched arm.

  Those evil
eyes. Men burst from the forest behind him and stopped as the train bore down on her like a raging beast. She had just one-second of living remaining. One-second to deny evil its glory. One-second to cherish life.

  “I die for France,” she said.

  Then ran.

  Download Stone Army Here.

  Free Starter Library

  To say thank you to everyone who reaches this far in the series, I wrote an extra novella that I giveaway along with my Starter Library.

  Stone Blood is the second novella set in East London when Harvey was just a tiny baby and follows on from Stone Breed.

  So if you have read Stone Breed, this is the part you’ve been waiting for. If you haven’t, then it’s waiting for you below.

  And once again, thank you for reading the Stone Cold Thriller series…

  J.D.Weston

  CLICK HERE TO GET YOUR FREE BOOKS

  Also By J.D.Weston.

  The Stone Cold Thriller Series.

  Book 1 - Stone Cold.

  Book 2 - Stone Fury

  Book 3 - Stone Fall

  Book 4 - Stone Rage

  Book 5 - Stone Free

  Book 6 - Stone Rush

  Book 7 - Stone Game

  Book 8 - Stone Raid

  Book 9 - Stone Deep

  Book 10 - Stone Fist

  Book 11 - Stone Army

  Book 12 - Stone Face

  Novellas

  Stone Breed

  Stone Blood (Available at the end of Stone Rage)

  The Alaskan Adventure

  Where the Mountains Kiss the Sun

  From the Ocean to the Stream

  .

  Stone Cold

  Book One of the Stone Cold Thriller series

  One priceless set of diamonds. Three of London's ruthless east end crime families. One very angry assassin with a hit list.