by Chris Ward
When she woke again, Patrick was sitting beside her. He reached out and squeezed her hand as she shifted and sat up, his fingers curling tightly around hers. She met his eyes and saw pain there but also relief that they had escaped.
‘Where are we?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Some crumbling manor house out in the country. That guy Moose said it belonged to one of Uncle Tommy’s clients who has fled the country.’
‘Sounds a bit dodgy.’
‘I took a look around. It looks like someone still lives here, but I think that’s just Uncle Tommy’s people keeping up appearances if the DCA show up. It’s an amazing place, though. If you’re feeling better, we can look around together.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever feel better. Not really.’
As she spoke, though, she was unsure what aspect of the last few days hurt her the most. Was it the beatings and the rapes? The imprisonment just for being connected to her father? Was it that she had found a noose around her neck for no apparent crime and watched others like her die?
‘It’s been a hard couple of days.’ Patrick smiled as he said it, and Suzanne heard the irony in his voice. ‘I mean, it could possibly get harder, but I’m not sure how.’
He helped Suzanne out of the bed. She was stiff and sore, but nothing was permanently damaged. Patrick told her that a bathroom in the hall had hot water, so she took a shower and cleaned herself up while he waited in the bedroom. When she returned, Patrick had laid out a selection of jeans, skirts, sweaters and t-shirts.
‘Where’d you get these?’
‘Tommy’s got a stash downstairs. Moose said they collect all sorts, donated by people, just in case.’
‘In case of what?’
‘I have no idea. But anything’s better than those old prison gowns.’
She realised he was wearing blue jeans and a black sweater. ‘What happened to those horrible things?’
‘There’s a wood burner in the kitchen. I shoved them in there.’
‘Good.’
She got dressed while Patrick looked out of a tall window at the garden outside. She hadn’t really looked around, but now she saw furniture and fittings from fifty years ago: hand-carved bookshelves lined with hardbacks of classical literature, ornate chairs that looked remarkably uncomfortable, and a desk that looked heavy enough to trouble an elephant.
‘This is an old National Trust house?’
‘Yeah, I think so. One still partially owned. Tommy managed the man’s accounts, so Moose said.’
Suzanne joined Patrick by the window. A wide field of grass lined by flowerbeds led down to a forest. They were on the third floor, and the Mendip Hills were just visible above the trees in the distance.
‘The town would be in that slight dip beyond the trees, wouldn’t it?’
Patrick nodded. ‘We’re not that safe. And I have to go back anyway.’
‘Why?’
Patrick sighed. ‘That creature that rescued us, I saw its face. It had a dog’s snout, but human eyes.’ He took Suzanne’s hand and she found it was shaking. ‘They were Race’s eyes. That creature was Race.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t begin to imagine what someone has done to him, but that creature, that was my brother.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘And Uncle Tommy must know about it if he was involved. I have to find him.’
Suzanne didn’t know what to say. On the one hand she hated Race because he was a disgusting pervert, but he was still Patrick’s brother. She had her own family she was worried about. In the end, all she was said was, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I looked into his eyes. I don’t know if he recognised me, but I know that was him. I have to go back.’
‘You know the DCA will be hunting us? It’s dangerous, Patrick. We’d be better to stay here and wait for your uncle to show up.’
Patrick was staring out at the gardens, his eyes glazed, seeing something else far away. Suzanne squeezed his hand but got no response.
‘Patrick?’
‘I have to go back,’ he said. ‘I have to find my brother.’
They found Moose downstairs in a spacious but crowded kitchen. There were three cookers in addition to the wood burners, two fridges and a large table squeezed into the middle. Moose was sitting at the table, polishing dress shoes. Three pairs already sat on a piece of newspaper, and he had a box beside him containing several more.
‘Got to keep busy,’ he said, looking up. ‘A place like this plays on the mind. Too many eyes watching you, if you start thinking about it.’
‘Where’s Uncle Tommy?’ Patrick said.
Moose pointed at a cordless phone in a brace on the wall by the door. ‘He calls when he wants something. Until then, we lay low.’
‘How long?’
‘Could be hours, or it could be weeks. He’ll call when he’s ready. You should spend the time recovering your strength.’ He nodded at a door Suzanne had failed to notice tucked in behind a tall cupboard. ‘Larder’s through there. It’s kept well-stocked. Help yourselves.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for the DCA, but I’m not a housekeeper. You can prepare your own meals.’
‘I have to go back,’ Patrick said. ‘I saw my brother. That creature that rescued us, that was him. Do you know what’s going on? Where he came from?’
Moose shrugged. He continued polishing a shoe with a gentle swish-swish of the brush. ‘Look, I was told to pick up two kids and drive them here. That’s the extent of my knowledge of anything. Tommy’s only instruction was to keep an eye on you until he gets back in touch. He prefers to keep what we know to as little as possible. If one of us gets caught, we don’t have much to say.’
Patrick looked frustrated, but Suzanne put a hand on his arm and pulled him away. ‘Thanks for everything you did for us,’ she told Moose. ‘We were nearly dead back there.’
Moose smiled. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with this country, but little of it’s good. There’s a big grey area between what’s right and wrong, and many of us have found ourselves in it. All you need to know is that there are a lot of enemies out there, but in here you’re safe. Your Uncle Tommy, me, and even whatever that thing that cut you down from the gallows was, we’re on your side.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Take a look around but don’t stray too far. If you go into the gardens, stay out of the woods. Keep in view of the house. I expect Tommy to call sooner rather than later.’
Suzanne led Patrick back upstairs. She was keen to do what Moose suggested and lose herself in their new home for a while, perhaps read some books or find a television. Anything to escape the horrors still bouncing around in her head. She didn’t want to think about her time in captivity, Jack, her missing father, the family she had who still might be in danger. Patrick, however, was restless, pacing up and down until she could stand it no more. When she suggested a walk outside, he jumped at the chance.
The gardens were extensive. At the front were a series of stepped patios and flower gardens leading down to a parking area and a Medieval-style gatehouse. The vehicle Moose had brought them here in was nowhere to be seen, but they found tyre tracks leading in then heading away, so most likely another secret parking area was hidden out of sight.
To the rear the gardens opened out, wide expanses of lawn interspersed with copses of trees and a couple of duck ponds. Everything was surprisingly well maintained, although the grass was a little longer, the flowerbeds a little wilder, and the ponds a little more clogged with fallen leaf litter than might have been normal for a National Trust house. Someone was maintaining it just enough to continue a charade of occupancy.
They held hands as they walked out across the grounds. Suzanne tried to forget everything that had happened and just enjoy the moment.
‘I wish we could stay here,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s quiet, it’s safe, there’s a ton of food … couldn’t we ask your Uncle Tommy to just let us stay on as caretakers? The DCA would never find us.’
Patrick frowned. ‘Yeah, they would. They’re going to find everyone eventually. Everyone who dares to hope for the world to get better.’
Suzanne said nothing. She might be trying to let go, but Patrick wasn’t. He had begun to look as he had in the cells when she returned from her nightly abuse, his face puckered and dark as though he wanted to explode but didn’t know how.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Yesterday we were nearly hanged in public. Now we’re walking around the gardens of an abandoned manor house. We might not have everything, but we’re together, and it could be a lot worse.’
‘For us, maybe. What about my brother?’
Suzanne took a deep breath, trying hold down her anger. ‘How can you be so sure it was him? You told me you only saw his eyes. And what kind of person has a dog’s snout? You’d nearly been strangled. Perhaps you were hallucinating.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘How do you know? You told me you saw a thing with a dog’s snout, human eyes, and wires all over its head. What the fuck is that?’
‘Someone had built it.’
‘Built what? A fucking vampire dog monster? Be realistic. If it wasn’t a robot it can’t have been real. No one can mix a dog and a human. It’s like a TV show or something.’
He turned to her, his eyes blazing. ‘I know what I saw. It was Race.’
‘Well, if you ask me, that prick got what he deserved. I just hope they cut his dick off as well as his mouth.’
Patrick looked about to slap her. Instead he gritted his teeth and turned away, his fists clenched. Suzanne wondered if she’d gone too far, but she’d never made any secret of her opinion of Patrick’s brother, no more than he’d made any secret of his lecherous advances toward her. She’d once been round at Patrick’s place and caught him peeking through the crack in their ill-fitting bathroom door. She’d yanked the door open and found him with one hand in his trousers, wanking himself off. She’d slapped him across the face but all he’d done was grin.
After that she’d refused to go around there, insisting Patrick visit her.
‘Patrick, look … I’m not going to pretend I like your brother, but I’m sorry for what I said.’
He started to turn, then gave a little shake of his head. They had reached the edge of the field, where it dipped down to a trickling stream that bordered the grassy area. On the other side was woodland, gently sloping uphill.
Something silver glimmered in a patch of sunlight near the top of the hill.
‘I’ll come back for you,’ Patrick said. Before Suzanne could reply, he broke into a run, heading for a little footbridge over the stream. He reached it, running hard, his feet thumping on wooden boards, and then he was into the forest. She recognised what he had seen now; the silvery glimmer belonged to the bonnet of a parked car.
‘Patrick, wait!’
He pitched forward, landing face down in the leaves, and then slid backward as though dragged by some invisible force. Howling, he rolled over, clutching at his leg.
‘Patrick!’
Suzanne raced down to the stream and onto the bridge, but as she reached the other side, Patrick put up a hand.
‘Suzanne, no, stop! There could be more!’
A wire had encircled his foot. He tried to get his fingers under it, but it had pulled tight. He looked up at her, helplessly shaking his head.
‘It’s a snare,’ he said. ‘I ran right into it.’
Behind her, across the wide gardens, came the sound of an engine starting up. Something small emerged from a shed and sped toward them. A small grass cutting tractor with Moose sat at the wheel.
Patrick was trying to twist his body around. He lay flat on the ground and dragged himself a few feet, following the wire back to its source. Brushing leaves aside, he uncovered a stake driven deep into the ground.
‘If I can just get it out—’
The pitch of the tractor’s engine changed as it reached the edge of the gardens and came to a stop. Moose climbed down, his face strangely calm. He carried a rifle across his chest.
‘Wait!’ Suzanne said, lifting her hands. ‘It was a mistake. We weren’t trying to escape.’
Moose lifted the gun and pointed it at her face. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to go into the woods?’ He looked at Patrick. ‘You clown. Do you want to see her die?’
‘No, I—’
Moose sighed then lowered the gun, poking in the dirt with the barrel. ‘Stay out of the woods. Those snares are to keep people out, not in. You triggered an alarm system. Good job I was paying attention or you might still be struggling around in that thing until tonight.’
He pushed past Suzanne, who just stared at him, and walked across the bridge, up the slope until he reached the stump. He dug into the ground and felt around. A click sounded, and the wire went loose. Patrick pulled it off his leg and stood up.
‘Are there others?’
Moose lifted an eyebrow. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know? Your Uncle Tommy asked me to keep you safe. I’m trying to do my best. Tommy Crown isn’t a man you let down, if you haven’t noticed already. I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me do my job.’
‘We’re sorry,’ Suzanne said.
‘Look, just bugger off back to the house while I reset this trap. And in case I wasn’t clear enough last time, stay out of the damn woods.’
Suzanne took Patrick’s hand and led him back across the bridge. They were almost back at the house, out of Moose’s sight behind a stand of trees, when she turned and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.
‘Enough of this,’ she said. ‘If that thing had gone around your neck you’d have been worse off than we were yesterday,’ she said. ‘This isn’t a stupid game. I know you want to rescue your idiot brother, but we’re still in the middle of being rescued ourselves. Just take it easy, would you?’
Patrick glared at her, but she could see in his eyes that his anger was slowly abating. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last, dropping his gaze. ‘I’m just worried about Race. I know you think he’s an arsehole, and there have been plenty of days when I felt the same, but like him or not, he’s still my brother. And I know what I saw. I don’t believe it either, but I know I’m not mistaken. Those were my brother’s eyes.’
‘If you say they were, then I guess I’ll have to believe you.’
‘What do we do now?’
Suzanne smiled. She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘We wait for your uncle to call.’
14
Urla
None of the news agencies had painted the fiasco in a good light, which was what it deserved. Urla watched the footage over and over, her initial hot flush at the sight of such an utter disaster reduced now to a long, painful frown. Television would be officially outlawed in the coming months if another government by-law was passed, and Urla would be glad. It would be wonderful not to have to watch her attempted statement go so badly wrong.
‘There,’ she said to Justin. ‘Rewind it. I want to see that bit again.’
The footage sped back then began again. It was grainy, a handheld camera shot swinging across the crowd. It caught something long and thin like an arrow cutting through the air and striking a soldier at the back of the stage. Another followed a couple of seconds later, cutting through the noose holding one of the captives, Patrick Devan. The crowd at this point were in pandemonium, running in all directions at once.
Now came the interesting bit. A brown shape blurred across the top of the crowd, leaping up onto the stage. It cut down the girl to Patrick’s left, Suzanne Carmichael-Jones, then cut through Devan’s bonds with a device that wasn’t immediately obvious. Then, it lifted the girl over its shoulder with one hand, before dragging Devan away.
‘Show me the other angle,’ Urla said.
Justin ran the tape. This next shot came from official DCA footage, from a camera on a tripod trained on the stage. It had been jostled during the chaos, but the shot was still clear enough to confirm what the other footage suggested.
/> The unidentified rescuer had ran across the top of the crowd.
What man had the skill to do that?
And he had done it dressed in a brown cloak and hood, while hiding a crude longbow under his robes.
‘Is that footage slowed down?’
‘No, natural speed.’
‘He’s moving at a normal running pace, across the tops of people’s head.’ Urla shrugged. ‘Who could do that?’
Justin pressed a microphone to his ear, frowning. ‘More footage has come in,’ he said. ‘From a CCTV camera at an insurance company at the head of the square. It appears to show the attacker climbing down a wall of the Bank of England building before running off across the crowd. It suggests it was the same man who shot the arrows.’
‘How did he get across to the stage so fast?’ Urla shivered. ‘That’s unnatural.’
Justin went to a computer set up on a table nearby and leaned over. After a moment he turned to Urla and said, ‘Okay, got it. Let’s take a look.’
The new shot didn’t show the gallows or the stage, but looked out across the crowd. Something brown and blurry dropped down the side of the bank’s wall, broke into a sprint and leapt up on top of the crowd before running across like it had in the first two views.
‘Did it jump down?’
Justin pointed a pencil at the screen, rewinding it and pausing. ‘No, look here. It seems to twist on the way. I think it’s climbing.’
Two guards had been placed in the tower, armed, watching over the crowd. Both were dead, their throats ripped out as though by some animal.
‘What are we dealing with?’ she asked, turning to Justin.
‘I don’t know, but it’s ignited the people like nothing else. They’re two parts scared, two parts elated, one part in disbelief.’
‘I can understand how they feel. What does this look like for us?’
‘Bad. Whatever that was rescued two captives. Word on the street is that there’s a revolution coming, led by this thing. And who survived is important. That it rescued Suzanne Carmichael-Jones, daughter of a prominent robotics magnate thought to have fled the country, suggests it’s on their side.’