by Paul Kane
That was why he'd gone off to face this Tsar character, completely mismatched some might think. But they'd be underestimating him, and Mary knew in her heart that Robert was anything but crazy. He believed it was something worth fighting for, a principle worth dying for. She just missed him and hoped he was okay.
It was also why she had to go down to the caves and have a word with Gwen, stop her from bringing up more of those weapons. They'd fight whatever was coming in the same spirit as Robert, not as the mad Frenchman would have done. Because he'd lost, hadn't he? And they'd won.
Mary began down the narrow, sheer steps that led into the cave system. The stone was slippery and it was dark. As she descended, though, she saw a flickering light. Someone had turned on the jury-rigged lamps which De Falaise had set up down here. For some reason she couldn't quite understand, Mary was as quiet as possible, loathe to give away her presence.
She turned a corner and saw it: the arsenal that had been carried down here not long after their victory, Robert's men disarming the Sheriff's troops and locking their toys away where they couldn't hurt anyone anymore. Until perhaps now…
Because Mary saw the female figure there in the shadows, hunched down, rooting through the weaponry like a dealer at a scrap metal yard. It was time to announce herself.
"And exactly what do you think you're doing, Gwe-" Mary cut short her sentence when she realised her mistake. As the figure righted herself, she saw that this woman had short hair, and it was much darker than Gwen's. Slowly, the woman faced her.
"Hello Mary."
"Adele." For a second or two, Mary's mind couldn't quite process this turn of events. "What are you doing down here?"
Adele just smiled that false smile of hers. "I… I heard about what was happening. And Jack told me about the weapons down here, so…"
"So you just thought you'd come and help yourself?"
"I was scared." But there was something in that voice which told Mary that Adele was anything but scared. This hadn't been a snap decision in the slightest, she knew exactly what she was doing. "Robert's not here and…" Robert again? "I'm glad you and him have patched things up," she tacked on, quickly. "Do you think he'll be all right?"
Mary frowned. What was she doing? Trying to change the subject, attempting to steer it away from why she was down in the caves after these weapons? Mary swept away all the confusion and let her instincts take over.
Don't trust her, Moo-Moo, said her brother's voice, so suddenly it almost made her start. She doesn't care about Robert. Not really. She doesn't care about any of you.
Nodding to herself, Mary then asked the most obvious question of all, the one she should have asked a long time ago. "Who exactly are you, Adele?"
"What are you talking about?" she said, a bit too hastily.
"Who are you? It's a simple enough question."
Now it was her who frowned. "I'm Adele," she confirmed, as if it answered everything. There was no response from Mary, so Adele began with: "I was born in Durham, moved away when I was old enough, travelled around… What more do you need to know?"
She's lying.
When Mary remained silent, Adele continued, like she was reading from a prepared speech. "Okay, I'm an only child, my mother brought me up on her own. It was… hard. My father… well, he left when I was very young. I never really knew him, but I would have liked to."
The woman was all caring and sharing now — why? So Mary would have sympathy for her? Another tactic? Were these more lies? Mary couldn't tell for sure, but Adele's eyes appeared to be welling up.
"I never really knew who he was until the end. Until my mother…"
Mary thought about what had happened to David, about caring for him when he died.
Don't get suckered in Moo-Moo. Don't make this about me, concentrate on what she's saying. Listen, really listen.
"I found some stuff in an old trunk in the attic of the house," Adele went on, as if she needed to get this out, share it with someone after so long. "Papers, old photographs. I knew my father had been a soldier, but nothing more. I didn't even know his real name until then. Can you imagine?"
Was it Mary's imagination, or did Adele's voice sound different, as she was becoming more emotional?
"She told me he died in some accident while he was serving abroad. The bitch! Why? Why would anyone do that?" Adele was beseeching Mary, and now the tears did roll down her face. "Everyone has a right to know where they came from, don't you think?"
The more Adele talked, the more her accent was slipping.
Born and brought up in Durham my arse… said David.
"Everyone has a right to know their father, Mary! I'd lay odds that you knew yours," Adele almost snarled. "So I set off to look for him. I had nothing but a name. I did not even know if he was still alive. I mean, my blood was his blood, but then we live in such dangerous times. I must have toured the breadth of Europe in those couple of years. But on the streets you hear rumours, and it only took one person to tell me they'd heard that name. One person who'd come across my father. Apparently he had been travelling too. Making friends all over the place. Enemies as well."
Mary began to move her hand slowly, down and sideways.
"Then he headed across to England. I suppose he thought he could start again. I can understand him wanting to come, I spent some time here myself in my teens. Mastered the 'lingo' pretty well, too, don't you think?" For this last bit Adele's accent jolted back to British, but when she spoke again she didn't bother hiding her true voice, her native accent. "So I followed his trail. All I wanted to do was meet him, get to know him, non? But by the time I got over here it was already too late. He really was dead this time. He'd been murdered."
Mary's trembling fingers made their way slowly towards the Peacemaker sticking out of the front of her jeans.
"Strange thing was, he'd been killed by someone wearing a hood, carrying a bow and arrow. A legend. And why was he killed?"
"Because he was a sadistic scumbag," Mary said seriously. "Because he took delight in other people's pain."
Adele shook her head. "Spin, created by those who slaughtered him in cold blood. He had power; he was The Sheriff!"
"He was going to hang people, Adele — if that's really your name."
"It is."
"He kidnapped me and put a sabre to my throat."
"Having spent time with you, I can certainly understand that." Adele's false smile now looked even more wrong. "My mother kept me from getting to know my father-"
"Wise woman," Mary broke in.
Adele scowled. "Then you people kept him from me forever. Well, I decided it was time you paid."
"So you thought you'd worm your way in here, have us all at each other's throats? Was that the plan?" Mary's fingers inched a little nearer to the handle.
"Sort of," admitted Adele. "I believe my father used to use the same methods of infiltration, to get inside his enemies' lairs. But it was always going to come to this in the end."
"It was no coincidence that Robert picked you up in York, was it?"
Adele shook her head. "Hardly. I've been studying the cult's movements, and Robert's, for longer than any of you realise. It wasn't hard to put myself in harm's way, to orchestrate a little… rendezvous."
Her fingers were almost there, just a fraction more. Careful, Mary, said her brother, which made her even more on edge. He only called her by her real name when he was angry with her or feared for her safety. She's crazier than her old man was.
"I must say, I can see why you're attracted to him," Adele stared at her, the tears all but dried up. "Under different circumstances and if I didn't hate his guts, maybe… Wouldn't be exactly difficult to come between you two, not with all the problems you've both got."
"You didn't come between anyone," Mary said defiantly.
"Right," replied Adele in a tone that made Mary want to punch her in the face.
"Look, we don't have much time. We're all in danger from The Tsar and-"
"Ah yes, The Tsar. An interesting twist," Adele said, stepping forward. "Even I had not foreseen that. I thought I would have to do this alone, but now… Maybe he might want to join forces, do you think?"
Hearing her talk like this, and now seeing her face — her true face — for the first time, Mary couldn't believe she'd been so blind. But then, how could anyone have known about Adele's real origins? She'd been so clever at hiding them. And in a post-apocalyptic world what did anyone really know about anyone?
"Especially if I give him a little inside help. It was only what I was going to do anyway, now that a good portion of your compliment are absent… or dead." She said this last bit with such hope, Mary made a grab for her gun — pulling out the Peacekeeper, cocking it, and pointing it at Adele's head. Adele didn't seem surprised; in fact she smiled again. That same crooked smile. De Falaise's smile. Mary was hardly likely to forget it.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Adele told her, then brought up her hands, turning around and showing what she was holding. A live grenade. "The pin's already pulled, in case you were wondering. All I have to do is let go of the trigger. I go, you go with me."
Damn it, said David in her head. What are you going to do now, sis? Mary didn't have a clue. She couldn't even tell Adele to drop her weapon, or they'd both go up.
Adele offered a solution. "So, I suggest you let me walk out of here with these." She shifted to one side, nodding down at a bag on the floor. Open, because Mary had disturbed her in the act, it contained a rifle, handgun, some more grenades, and what looked to be a mini-bazooka.
"You're not coming past me," Mary said. God knows what kind of damage she'd do with those, and at a time when they might be under attack from the outside as well.
"I don't have to," Adele barked. "I know there are other ways in and out of here." She grabbed the bag then walked backwards, picking her way through the Aladdin's cave of weaponry.
Mary's gun arm wavered. "Don't."
"You are not in any position to give me orders."
Mary hated to admit it, but Adele was right. All she could do was watch her as she retreated. When she was a good way off, Adele smiled again.
"I would like to say it has been nice knowing you, but…" Adele let the sentence tail off, then tossed the grenade at Mary.
Instinctively, Mary took a shot, but the woman was already gone. Then her eyes dropped to the grenade bouncing into the middle of the arsenal.
"Nuts," said Mary under her breath.
Run, Mary, run! shouted her brother, but she didn't need to be told, her legs were already in motion. She pelted out the way she had come, making it to the steps and almost all the way up them when the explosion came.
The blast rocked the cave, blowing dust, sandstone, and Mary out with it, causing a section near the exit to fall in just behind her. She felt something heavy land on her leg, pinning her to the steps, pain following.
Mary could see the light above, the open gate, but couldn't move. She reached out her hand, yet in spite of the efforts of her brother to keep her awake, Mary found herself blacking out. It sounded like another explosion went off then, but that one was distant. She let it go, able only to focus on one thing.
Her final thoughts were of Robert, Adele's words echoing in her mind.
Absent… or dead
Absent…
Or dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They were all dead.
Piled up, in front of The Tsar. And he was looking down on them with such a satisfied smile on his face. Mary, Tate, Sophie, Mark. And finally Jack, thrown down there by the giant Tanek, while the two Asian women looked on, swords drawn, ready to protect their Lord with their lives if necessary.
At The Tsar's feet was the suited man, crawling, half dead; one of his hands missing and blood staining his shirt from the belly wound that Dale had given him. All around them the forest was on fire. It was being attacked by the troops they'd found on the battlefield, trees mowed aside by armoured vehicles. The sound of chopper-blades could be heard overhead.
On his knees, Robert made an effort to get up and rush forward, to take revenge for the deaths of the people he loved. But he found he couldn't move. It was like he was stuck, his limbs unable to respond to his commands. His eyes were about the only things that could, and when he dipped them, he saw a light coating of fur on his chest, on his entire body (though he couldn't reach up this time — Robert didn't even think he had hands — he knew there would be antlers on his head). His shoulder was bleeding profusely, and so was his thigh.
But there was something else. A figure behind The Tsar. A woman. He recognised her short black hair, the pretty but tight features, instantly.
It was the woman he'd saved from the cultists. Adele. Indeed, the closer he looked at the soldiers flanking them, the more he saw their number amongst the troops: the robed men with machetes here and there, blending in with The Tsar's fighters.
Robert's attention was snapped back to Adele, though, as she draped herself over The Tsar, hands on his shoulders, lips to his ear. The Russian's grin widened, but his twin bodyguards looked like they wanted to run their swords right through her.
Then she came around the front, stroking Tanek's bicep as he joined them. There was something about the way she looked now, something that rang a warning bell. It was as if the layers were being peeled away, revealing the real face of this woman beneath her actor's facade. There it was in the eyes, in the crooked smile. He'd seen those features before, he'd looked into them as he'd been locked in a deathgrip. A relation? A cousin? A sister?
No. A daughter.
If only he had known earlier.
"Vengeance," whispered Adele in a French accent, now to the side of him. Now at his ear.
The thrup-thrup of an attack helicopter drowned her out, about to fire its payload as it had during the battle. The battle which he'd just fought and ended up-
Tanek, in front of him, was raising his crossbow — preparing to fire and then cut the antlers from Robert's crown. But those damned rotor blades, they were making such a row.
So close, so close.
Tanek raised his crossbow and fired…
…Robert's eyelids cracked open, then immediately closed again.
The noise of the rotor blades from his dream carried on. He must still be there, must still be in the dreamscape. Except, now he felt pain — real pain. The kind you could never feel in a dream. The kind that reminded him what he'd been through in the battle and the fight with the suited man.
Which meant that the sound of the chopper was real, too.
Robert forced open one eye. Yes, there was the outline of a helicopter. His lid snapped shut again. They'd taken out three of those things, but only incapacitated the first. It had to be that one returning to finish the job, the pilot intent on revenge, about to spray the field with bullets.
Robert kept as still as he could, feeling the shadow of the thing above him. But then his injured leg betrayed him, the pain there jabbing into him until the thigh moved of its own accord. That was just great; first he couldn't move at all, then his body was moving independently of his mind, giving him away.
He prised open both eyes, taking in the sight of the chopper directly above. If he was going out, finally, then he was going to meet death with his eyes wide open. Strangely, he realised he would miss seeing Mary's face much more than he was looking forward to seeing Joanna. It was a horrible, horrible thing, but true.
"I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered, but he wasn't sure which one of them he was apologising to.
Then Robert braced himself for those bullets.
He kept the helicopter level, coming in low and sweeping over the battleground.
What the hell had happened here?
He thought just how apt those words were, because Hell actually did look like it had happened to this place. This sleepy, wintry English meadow had been the site of some kind of rift, a portal connecting our world with-
He shook his head
. That was cobblers. What had happened here was man's work, not the Devil's. Two warring sides ripping each other to shreds.
The blackened and charred remains of tanks, jeeps, motorcycles and armoured vehicles littered the landscape. As did bodies, dozens of them. If he'd thought it was bad last time then…
"Judas bloody Priest."
When Bill had found out that something big was going down here, from a variety of his sources, he had climbed straight into his chopper and into the air.
He'd spent much of the time since the fracas at the Bay keeping tabs on the army that had landed, and what he was hearing made him sick to his stomach. These people made the Frenchman look like an amateur. They'd crash through cities, towns and villages like a juggernaut, treating those who could defend themselves and those who could not the same, killing both in equal measures.
Somebody needed to stop them, just like they'd stopped the Sheriff.
But with guns, tanks, jeeps and armoured vehicles of their own. Fighting fire with fire. It was the only way. Not like this, not with rocks, with arrows and swords. Not on horseback! It was the same old argument, one that had seen him leave these ranks in the first place and, looking around today, he was glad he'd got out in time.
Yet, as much as he believed that, Bill had to admit they'd fared damned well. Robert had again pulled something together out of nothing, led his men in an attack that any modern army would have been proud of. Seen off greater numbers and firepower with what looked like sheer force of will. There were more — many, many more — uniformed bodies down there than Rangers; which wasn't to say they hadn't taken heavy casualties as well. Bill spotted two or three corpses next to a small crater that looked as if they'd been melted down like plastic. Others had been raked with machine gun fire, their bows, arrows and swords laying uselessly by their sides. Robert couldn't have done all this with so few men, surely? Which begged the question, if there were survivors, where the blazes were they?