Bending down, he took Tanya’s hand. “We have to go,” he said softly, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear.
Eleven
Unarmed and unprepared, Collins had done what every right thinking man would do when the machine guns had gone off. He’d thrown himself back out into the yard, slamming the door behind him. Even with the door shut, the racket was more than anything he’d experienced before. In nineteen seventy-seven, he’d been involved in foiling a raid on a security van. A sawn-off shotgun had been fired at him from close range. Fortunately, the shooter was panicking and the blast went wide. But the noise had reverberated in his head for days after. That paled into insignificance by comparison to the din coming from the farmhouse.
His first thought was to return to Adam, Claire and the others. But they had sent him here knowing he’d be in danger, so he didn’t imagine he’d be met with much sympathy. Instinctively, he wanted to call for back up, but he didn’t have a radio with him. Even if he had, he suspected this whole thing would be over before any back up arrived.
So his options were limited. He could go back into the house, but that would be suicidal. Or he could go round the house and see if there was a safer way in. Or he could head for the other side of the yard and run down the track to the village. There, he could knock on doors until he found someone who’d let him use a phone to call for help. If he did that, he’d have to hope he got there before the Hawthorns caught him, or whoever was shooting the hell out of the farmhouse.
He jogged to the gate that led out to the track. There, he cursed his own sense of duty and turned left instead of right, heading up towards the old outbuildings. Earlier in the day, when he’d gone up to see the crime scene, he’d noticed that there was access to the back of the house through a garden. The garden itself was surrounded by a high wall, but there had been an open gateway. And it was still open when he reached it. From the opening, he took a moment to take in the scene in front of him.
At ground level, he could see flashes of light coming from what could only be an open doorway. Those flashes were accompanied by the cracks and bangs he recognised as gunshots, though by now they were more sporadic than they had been.
On the first floor, slightly to the right of where the doorway was, curtains had been pulled back and a window was open. And Martin Gates was there with Tanya McLean next to him. The house was a good hundred yards away, but he could tell from their body language that they were hesitating. And he could understand why. It was potentially a long drop if they just jumped out. Without thinking, Collins ran across the lawn, veering away from the doorway. There was no point in risking being hit by a stray bullet.
As he reached the patio, he saw Tanya’s legs were half way out the window.
“Let her out as far as you can!” he called up.
Martin’s head appeared, squeezed between the window frame and Tanya’s shoulder. He peered down for a moment, squinting into the gloom. Apparently recognising Collins, he gave a curt nod then disappeared again. As he did, Tanya began her descent. There was little finesse about the operation. As soon as her upper body was clear of the ledge, Martin let her drop as rapidly as his arms would allow. Then Collins was gripping her legs, steadying her, and pulling her down. He took her weight as Martin released her, and helped her to the ground.
She turned and gave him a puzzled look. “Inspector?”
But he didn’t have time to respond. Another pair of legs was slipping over the window ledge. He gently pushed her to one side, further away from the door, and reached up.
From inside the house, he heard a sickening yell, filled with pain and anguish. The gunshots had fallen away now. There was an occasional crack and pop, but it sounded as if there were only two or three guns in play. What he didn’t know was which side had them.
He caught hold of the feet and worked his hands up the legs, steadying them as he had with Tanya. Then she was alongside him, helping to take the weight. Even with her assistance, he was surprised at how heavy the body was. Then he realised it was her husband, and he was out cold. They dragged Ian away from the house. He knew it was necessary to keep the patio clear if they were going to help Martin down.
They were laying Ian down on the grass when there was a crashing noise to one side. He looked up to see a soldier lying face up, half in and half out of the doorway. His face was battered and bloody. The features were still recognisable, but only just. Blood poured from his forehead and nose. His eyes glittered briefly in the half light. For a moment, Collins felt they were looking at him. Then the body was jerked back into the house. The soldier opened his mouth to scream, then the back of his head bounced against the threshold and he was gone.
From just beyond the doorway, Collins heard a squelching sound and then silence. The guns had stopped. Above him, he heard heavy breathing from exertion, and in the sudden peace of the night, it seemed to reverberate around the garden and the house. He watched the doorway, terrified that whoever – or whatever – was inside would be able to hear Martin’s breathing and would come to investigate.
Further inside the house, he heard footsteps on wooden floorboards. He strained his ears, trying to gauge whether they were coming nearer or moving away.
A sharp slapping nearby made him jump. He leapt back, further on to the lawn, hoping to God that he was far enough away. There was a blur of movement in front of him, then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on!” Martin said urgently. “Let’s go!”
Twelve
Two of the soldiers were dead. The others would join them, but it would take a while. Their injuries had left them completely disabled. There was enough pain to make them suffer, not enough for them to black out. And they knew they were dying. The misery they were experiencing fed the Raven.
He had been distracted by the intruders. Inflicting that level of suffering took concentration. But now, as they lay helplessly on the floor or – in one case – hung from a coat hook on the wall, his attention returned to the people upstairs in the bedroom. As he started up the stairs, he was still basking in the afterglow of the destruction he’d just wreaked in the hallway. So it took a few moments for him to realise something was amiss. He was nearing the top of the stairs when he realised what was wrong. Then he was moving hurriedly.
Reaching the doorway, his eyes only confirmed what his more reliable senses had already told him. They were gone. And they weren’t visible from the window either. With the light on in the bedroom, he couldn’t see anything further than half way down the garden. He knew they were out there, but moving away rapidly. With an effort, he could probably catch up with them. It was a tempting idea. But he knew he had to think. Simply giving chase might give him an immediate release, but there was more at stake than capturing those three. After all, in the grand scheme of things, how important were they?
The one called Gates offered an opportunity to add to the torture he’d already inflicted on that family. It would be entertaining to compound the suffering they’d all endured. Entertaining, and nourishing at the same time. Just as it would have been if he’d been able to play with the other two. Although it was less than an hour since he’d satisfied himself with Jessica Cantor, this new woman had her attractions. He was sure he could have managed some form of sexual encounter with her. The more degrading the better. They would both suffer.
But those needs had already been served by the intervention of the soldiers. Their torment had given him enough energy for now.
So the only reason to go after the others was to stop them from bringing more people back. Maybe more soldiers. The Raven didn’t know how easy or difficult that would be, and he certainly didn’t have time to find out.
Reluctantly, he accepted that it was time to go. His plans had been thwarted. How or why he didn’t know or understand. And he was pragmatic enough to realise that there was nothing to be gained by looking for enlightenment. He had failed for now. But he had time on his side. Quite literally. He could return home now. O
r he could travel to another point in time. Maybe even a year from now, when all the fuss had died down, and everyone would assume it was all over. He could come back and start all over again. A year from now for everyone else, but the blink of an eye for him.
He reached inside his shirt and fingered the object that rested against his chest. He could go this instant.
Something stopped him, though, something that hovered at the edge of his mind. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly. Gates’s face kept popping into view, but he couldn’t yet make a connection.
Standing by the window, he hesitated. Which wasn’t like him. He was used to decisive action.
A raven swooped down and landed on the lawn. It stood facing him, looking up as if waiting for orders. Another joined it, then another and another until they formed a large shadow in the middle of the grass.
Less than a week had passed since the last time he was here in the village. Only a week. He’d recognised the man as a Gates, and yet he wasn’t really sure he’d been there. The family were there, father, mother, son and daughter. Of course the boy was twenty-five years older, but he’d expected him to look older than he was. Not a lot older, to be fair, and maybe that was why he was confused. There had been another boy, though. He’d come later. Perhaps it was him.
Time was on his side, but he knew he still had to make a decision.
When he had planned this trip, he had always envisaged how it would end. In one respect, the ending was to be the highlight. It would be tinged with regret that he hadn’t succeeded in bringing the bomb back with him. But to him it seemed appropriate that he should at the very least get the pleasure he deserved by forcing others to experience unbearable pain.
It was time to go. And as the thought passed through his mind, the lawn erupted as a hundred birds rose up in unison, before scattering in smaller groups, carrying their master’s invitations to his celebration.
Thirteen
The Land Rover was cramped with eight people in it. Mason and Croft were sitting on the floor in the back. Ian and Tanya were squeezed on to the back seat together with Collins. Martin was in the front, squashed up against Claire. Adam had turned the vehicle round and they were heading back down the track.
For a short time they travelled in silence. When they had come out of the darkness behind the farmhouse, it was clear that Collins and the others were desperate to escape from something. You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to work out what that something was. And the Sentinels knew that if they were discovered by the Raven, all of their efforts over the millennia would have been wasted. Collins had opened his mouth to speak, but Adam had gestured for him to save it till later. Then they ran, leading the way back to the Land Rover. Even getting in needed no verbal communication. The Sentinels knew instinctively where they needed to be, and the others were happy to be pushed into place.
They were passing the barn conversions before anyone spoke.
“I wanted to kill my parents.” Martin sounded bewildered. He was staring ahead, through the windscreen, but he was seeing other images in his head. The fear on his father’s face when he’d visited him and Matt at the barns. His mother sitting quietly in the cottage the other night, looking so much older than he ever imagined she would. And her glistening body lying on the ground, waiting to be used. Colin bouncing into the pub like a child. Matt’s animosity towards him. Janet’s refusal to look at him when he saw her. This was his family, and only one of them accepted him. The one he thought he knew the least. And surely the only reason Colin accepted him was because he was too simple to know otherwise.
So of course he was angry. They’d rejected him when he was just a child himself. And now he was back they’d made it clear they didn’t want him around any more. They were cold, heartless bastards, and they didn’t deserve to have him in their family. Yes, he was angry, and he had every right to be angry. But he didn’t want them dead.
He felt Claire take his hand, and that simple gesture broke the dam he’d built over the years.
More than twenty years worth of bottled up emotion burst out. The pain of rejection, of missing his parents. Now there was a concept that hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d missed his mum and his dad. Even though they’d been there in person, they’d not been there for him. His loneliness and emptiness. All of it came pouring out. There was no pricking behind the eyes and a gradual build up. He sobbed, grieving for the loss of the family life he knew he should have had.
Claire put her arm around him and allowed him to do it.
Fourteen
When children fall over and hurt themselves, they cry. They let the pain out in a short sharp burst. In that instant, adults are convinced that they are suffering the most intense agony. And yet, sometimes only moments later, they can be laughing and playing as if nothing ever happened. The natural inclination is to assume they were making a lot of fuss about nothing.
On the other hand, when adults hurt themselves, they hold it in, not wanting to make a fuss. And they don’t. Not at that moment. Instead, they spend the next several hours, days or sometimes even weeks moaning about the incident. They cling to the suffering.
Sometimes it’s good to let it all out. Sometimes it can be healing.
Fifteen
Claire held Martin close to her for several minutes after the sobbing died down. It felt natural to be this close to him. He had turned towards her while he cried, and his head rested gently against her breast. Strangely, she found it almost as comforting as she knew he did. Her hand rested on the back of his head, holding him in place. She sensed his need for succour, and she instinctively wanted to provide it.
They were in the village now, passing the row of cottages where the Gates family lived. The Post Office was just ahead of them. As they approached it, four figures appeared. They came out on to the pavement from the driveway at the side of the shop. In the dull glow of the streetlights, they were little more than silhouettes. Claire didn’t see them because she was focusing on Martin. But she did notice the Land Rover was slowing down. She looked over Martin’s head at her brother.
“What’s happening?”
Adam was concentrating on his wing mirror. “The Paynes,” he said. “All of them have just gone out.”
“All of them?” Claire couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t see who else it could have been.” Adam looked across at her. His expression was grim.
“What’s going on?” Collins asked. He had lots of questions he wanted to ask. To have held off this long was commendable, Claire thought to herself. It had shown them his humanity. He’d allowed Martin his reaction, but now things were changing again. Unfortunately for him, they still didn’t have time to give him detailed explanations.
“Don’t know for sure,” Adam said. His tone was flat, emotionless. Claire recognised it. For most of their lives, they were able to enjoy a peaceful existence. They worked and laughed and generally got on with life. But they never lost sight of their purpose. So among the work they did they trained. They were proficient with a wide range of weapons, from swords to clubs to guns. Their nature took them towards peace. Having to take action, or confront the effects of the Raven’s actions, meant that they each had to make a mental shift. Adam’s technique was to shut down all his emotions. She knew now that, until the Raven was gone, Adam would appear to everyone to be cold and ruthless. Only afterwards would he open himself up. And then he would suffer. How long that lasted would depend on what he had to endure. It might be days, or weeks or months. She hoped not too long.
The village boundary was coming up ahead of them now. Adam swung across the road into an opening that led into a field. Then he reversed back out and turned towards the village centre again.
“Come on,” Collins urged, “tell me what’s happening.”
Up ahead on their right was a small housing estate. It had been built in the nineteen fifties, a mixture of semi-detached bungalows. As they approached it, three sh
adowy figures emerged from the end of it and began walking into the village. Seeing them, Adam pulled into the side of the road. He let the engine idle as he watched them.
“Who are they?” Collins again. “And why are they so interesting?”
“It’s the Salthouse family.”
Martin raised himself from Claire’s breast. “The Salthouses?” He rubbed the tears from his face as he looked through the windscreen and watched them passing The Major Oak. “What are they doing?”
“He’s doing it again,” Claire murmured.
“Who’s doing what again?” Collins asked, his frustration barely suppressed.
But Martin knew. “He’s calling them up to the woods, isn’t he?”
Adam nodded. “It means he’s going, though. We can just let him get this over and done with, then he’ll be gone.”
With her arm still around Martin, Claire knew her brother was right. But she also knew it would leave even more devastation in the village. And she wasn’t sure how Martin would cope with the aftermath. She squeezed Martin’s shoulder, trying to communicate to him that she would do everything she could to make him feel better.
In a way, she’d half-expected the response she got. Martin shrugged her arm away. His head swivelled between brother and sister, taking them both in as he spoke.
“You can’t let him get away with this.”
“Get away with....?” But Collins didn’t complete his question.
“We can’t expose ourselves,” Adam said. “We’ve already explained this. If we do, he’ll know we’re on to him.”
“We can’t intervene,” Claire agreed, though with less certainty.
“You selfish bastards!” Martin said angrily. Then he was pushing against Claire, reaching for the door handle. “Here! Let me out.”
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