Children's Crusade ac-9

by Scott Andrews

  Those kids who'd been with her for a while were trying to keep the new arrivals quiet as they neared the street corner. Caroline was in front, gun at the ready, when she heard a single shot echo back to her from the road ahead. She spun around waving frantically, indicating for the kids to scatter. Her 'soldiers' immediately began shushing the kids and herding them into the abandoned houses. In one minute the street was empty, the fear of imminent discovery managing what she'd been trying for hours to achieve — keeping the little brats quiet so she could think. She could see the pale faces of her guys at the doorways of the houses they'd taken shelter in, standing guard, waiting for her to make a move.

  She gripped the gun tightly and ran to the pavement, pressing herself into the shadows and creeping forward so she could peer round the corner into the next road.

  Her heart sank as she saw a pair of dual-cab pickups on the road, their roof-mounted spotlights picking out her four friends, who were down on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Each vehicle carried a team of four heavily armed men, three of whom were advancing with their guns trained on the captives. The road was wide and open, and the cars and kids were in the middle of a huge junction, providing almost no cover. She couldn't get close to them without being seen by the two men who were standing in the open backs of the vehicles, scanning the area for possible attack.

  They were too far away for her to hear what the men said when they reached the four kneeling children, but she could tell they were shouting. Andrew was typically defiant and shouted back, which earned him a gun butt in the face and then, once he'd fallen over, a hard kick to the solar plexus.

  Caroline clenched the gun tighter, so wanting to blow that fucker's head off but seeing no way to do so without leading them right to the children she was trying to protect. She was about to turn away when first one lookout then the other went rigid and dropped like stones off the sides of the vehicles on to the road. Caroline hadn't heard any shots. What the fuck had just happened?

  The men interrogating her friends didn't seem to know either. At first they just looked confused. One of them walked to the nearest car to see what was going on. Just as he rounded the cab he dropped too, silent and instant. Caroline realised they were under attack, but she still had no idea by whom, or how. She was still too far away to approach unseen, even with this distraction. If she made a play, there was still a better than average chance that she'd be cut down. She bit her lip and, fighting down her instinctive desire to wade into the fight, waited to see how this would play out.

  The engines of the vehicles revved as the two drivers indicated their desire to leave. The two men still in the open hesitated, unsure, and then ran — one to each cab. Neither of them made it. This time, as the second one fell, Caroline caught a glimpse of something sticking out of his chest. She couldn't be sure at this distance and in this light, but she thought maybe it was an arrow.

  The drivers didn't wait another second. They screamed away at speed, racing to escape this silent attacker. One of them made it, but the other began swerving wildly from left to right before smashing straight through the frontage of an old pub, erupting into flames. The archer must have managed to shoot the driver through his windscreen while he was moving. Shit, this guy was good.

  The other pickup squealed around a corner and vanished into the night as Caroline broke cover and ran to see how her four friends were doing. Andrew was sitting up, his face a mess of tears and snot. The other three were getting to their feet, mouths open. Caroline went and inspected one of the dead churchies. Sure enough when she rolled him over there was a thin wooden arrow buried deep in his chest. It had been painted black.

  "That's mine," said a deep voice behind her and she spun, instinctively raising her weapon as she did so.

  Since there were no streetlights, there were few shadows for the archer to step out of. He just sort of materialised out of the darkness. Dressed head to toe in dark green, he held a wooden bow in his right hand. A quiver of arrows stuck up over his left shoulder.

  "The beauty of arrows, you see, is that they're recyclable. Shoot a bullet or a cartridge, like the one that shotgun of yours fires, and it's gone forever. But an arrow…" He stepped past her, reached down and yanked the wooden shaft from the dead man's chest. It came out with a soft squelch. "That can be used again."

  "Who are you?" asked Melissa, who was now standing behind Caroline.

  "My name's Ferguson," said the archer in a thick Irish accent as he wiped his arrow clean on the dead man's jacket. He stood up and slotted it back into his quiver, ready for another day. "I'm a Ranger." He seemed surprised that this pronouncement was greeted with silence. "From Nottingham," he added. And then: "I'm with Hood."

  He stared at their blank faces, waiting for the spark of recognition. Nothing.

  "I can see we need a better publicist," he said, smiling.

  "Thank you," said Andrew, now on his feet.

  "You're welcome. You know what would be a good way to thank me? Getting this young lady to stop pointing a shotgun at me."

  Everyone stared at Caroline, who held her gun steady. "Hood?" she said. "Robin Hood in Nottingham?" The sarcasm dripped like honey.

  "The very same," said the archer.

  "Right. And you're, what, one of his Merry Men?"

  The archer shook his head "No. I'm one of the Sullen Men. The Merry Men are, you know, merrier than me. They crack more jokes."

  Caroline could see her friends smiling, but she didn't follow suit. "Why should I trust you?"

  The archer allowed indicated the dead bodies of the churchies that littered the crossroads, the look on his face saying 'you want more proof?'

  "Bit convenient, though, isn't it? You just turning up like this, just in time to rescue us from the bad guys. Almost like it was staged."

  "Caroline, seriously?" said Luke.

  "Think about it, Luke. Perfect way to gain our trust. What if Matron didn't tell them where the school is? This would be a perfect way to infiltrate us and get us to lead them straight there. They've already tried it once, remember."

  "He killed them, Caroline," said Melissa.

  "Yeah, and wasn't that easy?"

  "You think they let him?" Andrew's tone of voice betrayed the incredulity he and all his friends were feeling. Caroline didn't understand why they couldn't see it.

  "They're fucking churchies, guys," she said. "Probably think they're martyrs, seventy eight virgins waiting for them or something." She glanced at their shocked faces. "What, you doubt my judgment now, after everything we've been through? Don't you see this is what he wants? Turn you against me, let you lead him to the school and then it'll be a fucking army of snatchers turning up at to carry us off. We should just kill him and move on."

  Luke stepped forward and gently laid his hand on the barrel of her shotgun. "Too paranoid, Caroline. I don't buy it."

  The archer wisely stayed silent, watching Caroline closely, waiting to see how this would play out.

  Caroline clenched her jaw. She could just pull the trigger, finish this guy regardless. It was the safe thing to do. It was necessary, she knew that. Why couldn't the others see it? Once he was dead they'd fall into line, they'd have no choice. Who else was going to shepherd them to safety? They'd realise eventually that she was right. She squeezed the trigger gently.

  "No!" shouted Luke, pushing the barrel down as the gun went off. The cloud of lead pellets embedded itself in tarmac. The archer didn't even flinch.

  Caroline spun fast, dropping the gun and drawing a knife from her belt as she did so. The blade was at Luke's throat before he could step backwards.

  They stood there, frozen, for a long moment. Luke was scared but defiant, sticking his chest out and staring Caroline down. Eventually she withdrew the knife and resheathed it.

  "Traitor," she spat. Then she turned on her heels and stalked off into the darkness, away from her friends and the children who were beginning to emerge from hiding to see what was going on.


  She needed to be alone.

  Ferguson found her an hour later.

  The shop downstairs had been looted clean, but the flat above it, although long abandoned, still had some stuff lying around that no-one had bothered to cart off. She lay on the double bed, ignoring the smell of mould, and took another swig from the bottle of whisky she'd found down the back of the sofa.

  She disregarded the soft knock at the front door. It was open anyway, and she knew it would just be one of her friends come to coax her back. She already knew she was going to relent, but she allowed herself the luxury of sulking there in the darkness, knowing that she was being self indulgent but needing to be persuaded, needing someone to make explicit how much she was needed and valued.

  She didn't look up as someone entered and sat at the foot of the bed. Which is why she was so surprised when they began talking and she realised who it was.

  "How long have you been looking after them?" asked the archer.

  She thought: I don't recognise your right to ask me that. She didn't reply.

  "It's not easy, being a leader," he said. "Managing people, trying not to let them down, making decisions when they're too stupid or lazy to make them for themselves."

  "They're not stupid," muttered Caroline. "They're just kids."

  "True. But how old are you?"

  "Fuck off." She took another swig.

  "Not old enough to be drinking that, that's for sure."

  "Touch my bottle and I'll slice your fucking hand off."

  "Wouldn't dare," he said. "Your deputy told me where you're making for."

  "Then he's a blabbermouth twat who deserves everything he gets."

  "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

  She looked up, open mouthed, then she threw the bottle at his head. He swatted it away.

  "Sorry," he said, seemingly genuine. "It's just something you say, isn't it?"

  "Not any more," she growled through gritted teeth.

  "No, I s'pose not."

  There was a long awkward silence before Caroline said: "What do you fucking want, anyway?"

  "This school you're heading for, St Mark's."

  "What about it?"

  "Luke says their matron was with you. Is that right?"

  "Like you don't already know," she muttered darkly.

  "Is what he told me correct — did she go to the centre to kill Spider?"

  Caroline glowered at him then eventually nodded once.

  "And you used to know her? You were at the school?"

  Again she nodded.

  "Right. Well that's good, because you see I met some of their people. Three guys — Lee, John and Tariq. Do you know them?"

  "I knew Lee for a while. Never met his dad or the other one. They're dead, anyway. The snatchers killed them when they captured her."

  Ferguson shook his head. "No, they didn't. I was there that day. I was in the other lorry, the one you didn't manage to liberate — good job, by the way. We faked their deaths so I could get inside Spider's organisation."

  Caroline shook her head. "No, don't believe you."

  "They're still free. By now they should have got word to my boss. We're going to bring these bastards down, Caroline. And you can help us."

  "No, Matron said they were dead. She said she knew they were dead."

  Ferguson paused, slightly thrown by her insistence. Caroline heard the edge of panic in her voice and tried to damp it down without success.

  "I promise you, Caroline, they're alive. The school is safe, and my boss will be sending help. I've been in Westminster for two days. I've mapped the layout, the disposition of their forces, their timetables. Everything. I need to get this information to my people so we can mount an assault…"

  "What did he look like?"

  "Sorry?"

  "John. Lee's Dad. What did he look like?"

  "Um, medium height, brown hair and eyes. Strong chin. I dunno, I didn't study him. Why?"

  Caroline felt like wetting herself. She tried to rationalise it, to tell herself that no, she had been right, the man she'd killed had definitely been an imposter. But she knew.

  Oh God, she thought. What have I done?

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time we reached Hemel Hempstead my arse hurt like hell. I'd done plenty of horse riding after The Cull, but not so much since Salisbury. I had shooting pains in both my legs, souvenirs of the times they really were shot, and chaffing in places that, thank God, had managed to avoid being shot so far.

  I got down from my horse feeling like an old man, walking bow legged and grunting the way oldsters do when they get up from an armchair.

  "Behold, the mighty warrior," laughed Jack as I hobbled towards him.

  I let my horse loose to graze on the patch of grass by the car park of what used to be the West Herts College.

  "Tease me again and I'll shoot you in both legs," I snapped. "See how you like horse riding then."

  He patted his steed on the flank and it trotted off to graze alongside its fellows.

  The sun was setting. It had been a cold, rain-drenched ride and although the downpour had finally ended, the evening temperature was dropping fast.

  "Is it open?" I asked, indicating the double doors that led into the main college building.

  Jack nodded.

  "We'll sweep it first. Just in case." This was Wilkes, leader of the six Rangers that Hood had gifted us.

  Tall and solid, he was a no-nonsense Yorkshireman with ruddy cheeks and jet black hair. He'd hardly spoken to me since we'd been introduced, except to make clear that he and his men were here to help, but they'd do so on their terms and wouldn't be taking any orders from me. I didn't argue. I figured once they met Dad they'd fall into line, recognising the value of having a trained soldier in command.

  The five men with him talked and joked amongst themselves, but gave me a wide berth. At least they weren't openly resentful, like the ones who'd ridden with me up from Thetford, so I supposed that was progress of a sort.

  I stepped back and let them enter first, with swords drawn. Jack and I stood outside feeling foolish and cold. Five minutes later the door swung open again and one of them ushered us inside.

  The college had been trashed, but there was still plenty of wooden furniture for us to chop up for firewood. Within the hour we had a big bonfire in the car park. We gathered round it for warmth and shoved foil-wrapped potatoes into the flames to roast.

  No one came to investigate the fire. If there were people still living in the vicinity, they stayed away.

  "I thought they'd be here by now," I said as I watched the flames consume a pile of old lab tables. "The snatchers were due to attack the kids in Hammersmith yesterday. If Dad got them out in time, they should be here."

  "You think they might be having to fight their way out?" asked Jack.

  "Could be," I replied.

  "So how long do we wait?"

  "We go at dawn, I reckon. If they're besieged, they'll need us."

  "Oh yeah, you eight guys are a hell of a rescue force."

  I span around, startled by this new voice. Tariq stepped into the firelight, gun in hand, smiling broadly.

  "Don't move!" came a yell from the other side of the bonfire.

  "Relax," I shouted as I got to my feet. "He's with us."

  "What happened?" asked Jack, as anxious as I was at seeing Tariq here. "Did they attack the school already?"

  Tariq shook his head, then indicated behind him with his hook. I stared into the darkness and realised that he was not alone. About forty children I recognised stepped forward into the orange light. They all wore their camo gear, their faces streaked with shoe polish, their hands full of hardware.

  "We decided," said a boy I was shocked to realise was Green, "to bring the fight to them."

  "That fucker shot me. Shove a knife in his throat would you, Nine Lives?"

  I ignored the voice in my head as I approached Green, who sat on his own at the point where the fire's warmth ceased
to give protection against the frost that was settling on the hard ground.

  "Hi," I said. "You mind?" I indicated that I'd like to join him, and he waved me forward. I sat down next to him, watching the crowd mingling around the fire.

  "You want to know what made me change my mind. Why I picked up a gun again and joined the team," he said. It wasn't a question. "Honestly, I don't know." There was a long pause as he considered.

  "Partly it's because I feel like a grown up now," he said. "I know I'm strong enough that no-one could make me do the kind of things Mac made me do when I was part of his team."

  "That was what you were afraid of?" I didn't know whether to be insulted or not. Did he really think that Jane or I would ask him to do something he didn't feel okay with?

  "You don't know what it was like," he said, staring off into the distance. "You always played things your way, but I liked being a follower. It made me feel safe. It's attractive, you know? Allowing something else to make all the decisions, ceding your free will to someone else."

  It wasn't attractive to me. In fact it was baffling. But I'd seen enough cults and armies to know that what Green was describing was more than simply common.

  "If you do that," he continued, "then the person who's in control can make you do anything, anything at all, and you never think about the morality of it. You rationalise it away and say that it's their fault. You're just following orders. No blames attaches. It insulates you."

  "But you did question it," I pointed out. "You turned on Mac. You shot him dead, mate."

  "Not soon enough." He sighed. "But afterwards, when he and the school were gone and we'd relocated, I decided to treat it like a drug. I though I had to go cold turkey. No guns. No power to give orders. No clique or gang. I would be completely independent. That way no-one could ever get their hooks in me again. I couldn't fall off the wagon, be seduced into letting someone else tell me what to do."

  "So it wasn't fighting you were afraid of, it was following orders?"