by ZZ Adams
The man said nothing, but let out a low whimper, still patting at his face as though he could get it to knit back together.
He didn’t seem afraid, just in pain. Even though she and George had killed two of their comrades. That’s when the thought of it came—she’d killed a man. Numb like she hadn't been warm before, she leaned into a tree.
George picked up the fallen pistol then pulled out his sheaf knife. It was old, with a carved deer horn handle. “I don’t know who you are, but do you really think I can’t make you answer? You’re on my land.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You think I am going to let you get away with killing the members of my household? Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now? Speak!”
The man said nothing.
“You asked for this.” George leaned over and with one smooth movement, plunged the knife into the base of the man’s knee.
The man screamed as the boy advanced the blade. George did not relent.
“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you,” the man stammered. “Just stop. Please.”
George paused, but kept the knife where it was. The flesh around the man’s wound was tight and pale, like a pair of pressed lips.
“They sent us for her, for the girl. Said we should kill anyone who gets in our way.”
“Why?” asked Grace.
“I don’t know.” He looked up at her. “But they wanted you alive.”
George unholstered and examined the second pistol the man was carrying, which looked smooth and modern and was made out of high-tensile plastic. “What’s this thing for?”
“Knockout darts,” said the man. “For her.”
“Who hired you?” asked Grace.
“Spiral. That’s what they called themselves. I don’t know anything about them. I swear.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Eight,” said the man. “Plus the commander and the driver.”
George withdrew the knife to a sharp gasp from the man. Immediately a trickle of fresh blood escaped the wound. He wiped the sheaf knife on the man’s trousers then put it away then he aimed the pistol at the man’s head. “So you were just going to kill everyone and take the money?”
The man shook his head.
“Tell me,” asked George, “Do you believe in God?”
“No,” said the man.
“No need to pray then.” He shot the man twice in the head.
Erin gasped as the shots left her ears ringing. She couldn’t look at the dead mercenary, the blood on the snow, or even at George.
“I had to do it,” said George. “There’s at least seven more of them to deal with ahead of us. We can’t afford to have him come at us from behind.” He hunched over. “That was hard.”
She touched his shoulder, wanting to believe that had been harder for him than it seemed. “I don’t see what else you could have done. Let’s take their guns and get back up to the house.”
They paced back up the castle, arm in arm, stopping occasionally to scout the walls with their binoculars, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They tried to call the police several times but had no luck getting a signal.
George’s face was set steady with a stoic glare. He was holding it together, but they had yet to face what might be waiting for them in the house. She wasn’t sure he would be able to hold it together. She wasn’t sure she could herself.
“This is going to sound crazy,” she said, “but I think I know why they might be after me.”
“Crazy or not,” said George, “I’ll believe you if you say it’s true.”
“Remember those kids on the news who saved all those people in that terrorist attack?”
“The ones with the psychic powers? They’ve been talking about almost nothing else at school.”
She nodded. “I think I might be one of them. Or I could just be going mad.”
He stopped in his tracks. “That is crazy.”
“But you said—”
“No, I believe you. I do.”
She shook her head. “I’m still not sure. But it seems like I can talk to the dogs.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Just watch. I need someone else to see this just in case I was imagining it all. Boys, run in circles around George.”
The dogs ran around him, keeping their eyes on her the entire time.
“Now run ahead and return to us.”
The dogs ran off.
She set off walking again and he followed.
“Okay, I really do believe you. But that means you’re in serious danger and I need to get you out of here.”
She stopped again and turned to him, wrapping him in her arms. “We could go now and hide, but we have to see if your dad and the staff are alive and try to rescue them.” Her lip quivered. “I don’t want to think about what they might be going through.”
As they approached the castle, they picked out a long black van that had been parked outside the gate. Through binoculars, they could make out a driver in the front seat smoking a cigarette. The man had his feet up and one elbow resting on the window ledge. Most of his head lay obscured behind the vehicle’s metalwork.
“We’ve got to take him out,” said George.
“All of them,” said Erin, “one by one, until they’re all gone or they leave.”
“Agreed.”
“It’s not the easiest shot from here,” said Erin.
“If we could get him to step out of the van, it would be better.”
“Max,” said Erin. “Run over to the van and jump up against the side.”
Max: “On my way!”
George shook his head in amazement as Max bolted towards the van.
Both of them raised their rifles as the dog drew closer.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to time this one,” said George. “The moment you get a clean shot, take it.”
Max jumped up against the side of the van and scrabbled with his claws. Sure enough, the driver got out and drew his pistol. As he made his way around the van to see what was going on, George’s shot landed. It clipped the man’s shoulder, jolting him back.
Erin had to adjust her aim. Three inches to the left of the shoulder, just like with the deer. Again, she didn’t hesitate and squeezed the trigger. Her shot hit true and the driver fell to earth, unmoving.
“Good shot!” said George. “I knew you had it in you.”
“What now?”
Max made his way back to them, tail wagging.
“We’ve got to get inside. If Father is still alive I know exactly where he’ll be.” George shivered as he led on carefully through the gate and they made their way around the inner wall, coming to the porter’s entrance, right at the back. George slowly opened the door and peeked inside. “We’re all clear.”
They entered the narrow, brown-carpeted hallway. A clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, but other than that and the panting of the dogs, everything was still.
George picked up the hallway phone. “The line’s dead.”
The kitchen was at the end of the hall. As soon as she opened the door the horror ahead of them was clear. Rosie, the cook, lay dead on the floor, shot through the chest.
The dogs whimpered and licked her face. Blood pooled on the flagstones below her.
“I can’t believe this.” George’s hand tightened around his rifle.
“This is all about me.” Erin touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. If you were by yourself they’d have you by now. I’m glad you were here so I could help. No sadness. Not yet. No regrets. Once we’ve killed these bastards then we can pause for despair.”
Erin slung the rifle over her shoulder and took out the handgun. “I think we should use these. They’ll be more effective up close.”
George nodded. “Good call.” He pulled out a magazine from his side satchel. “Take this. I found four spares on the guy from the woods. I hope it’s enough.”
He crossed to the oth
er side of the kitchen where a huge enamel plaque listing imperial weights and measures was screwed to the wall. He pushed its very centre and the wall swung back. “Still works. This leads all the way to the side of the library. Come on.”
It was dark and dusty inside and cobwebs tickled her nose. As they got to the end of the passage, she heard a voice calling from outside.
“Come on, Your Grace, we’re not going to hurt you. We just want to know where the girl is.”
“Yeah,” said a deeper voice, “just give us what we want and we’ll be on our way.”
There was no reply from the laird.
Erin whispered. “They’re right outside. What do we do?”
“Father’s blockaded in his study, as I thought. He’ll be on the other side of the door with his shotgun aimed at it. He’s safe for the moment.”
“We could go back to the van and try to get help. Can you drive?”
George shook his head. “I could try.”
Erin raised her gun. “It’s the wrong move anyway. Let’s jump out of here next time they say something and then join your dad.”
George raised his gun and nodded. He put his other hand on the latch. “Get ready.”
“We’re not going,” said one of the men, “until we’ve got her…”
George sprung the door and bolted out. Erin went right after him.
The two men had their pistols drawn but were facing an oak door as tall as a grizzly bear and twice as wide. They turned and raised their guns but Erin already had the closest one in her sights. She let off three rounds into the man’s chest and he collapsed to his knees and then sank to the floor, moaning.
George just as easily dispatched the other man. As the shots faded, the house once again sank into complete silence.
“Good job!” George knocked on the door. “Father, it’s me! It’s all clear.”
The door opened. The laird was tall and grey-haired. His expression was unreadable but his lips were thin and bloodless. He put his shotgun down and took George in his arms. “My God, lad, you’re alive. I thought they might have got you. I’m bloody glad they didn’t.”
Behind them stood Murray with a rifle in his hand. He gave a single wave.
On the table was Simon, the young stableboy. Blood streaked his left leg. Someone had wrapped it in a brown cloth they’d pulled from who knows where.
“Get in, quickly,” said the Laird, beckoning them forward.
Before she complied, Erin stripped the guns off the fallen men, as well as the spare magazines they were carrying. The laird shut the door behind them and locked it.
“What happened to Simon?” asked Erin.
“He took a round on our way from the gatehouse,” said Murray. “He’s okay for the moment, but we need to get him to the hospital sooner rather than later.”
Between the two of them, they explained everything they knew, including a demonstration of Erin’s strange abilities.
“She was brilliant,” said George. “That’s five of them down. According to the one we questioned, that means there’s only five left.”
“Three,” said Murray. “Simon and I took one each as we were being chased back here.”
“You’ve all done well,” said the laird. “We’re safe in here. But Murray is correct, we cannot hold out indefinitely. We must have Simon seen to.” He went to his drinks cabinet and poured everyone a whiskey. “Take a dram of this. You look like you could both do with it.”
Erin took the glass and sipped the golden liquid. It sizzled her mouth and burned her throat. She had no idea how anyone could drink it, but she was determined not to let it defeat her. Warmth flooded her chest. She nodded her thanks. As hard to drink as it was, it did seem to have helped calm her nerves.
“The phone lines have been cut. “ Murray held his mobile phone aloft. “Still no signal on these useless modern contraptions. If anyone has any ideas?”
“We need to get Erin away from here,” said George. “If they’re after her we remove their quarry.”
“I agree,” said the laird. “They’re taking no chances and have come in force. They’re serious operators. My gut is telling me they won’t stop until they’ve got you. We need to get you away.”
“Not a chance,” said Erin, “I’m not abandoning you all while there’s still danger. Not after what they’ve done to Rosie. I say we drive them off, or if they won’t run, we take the last of them down.”
All three of them smiled at her.
“I knew there was a reason I liked her,” said the laird. “We will deal with dear Rosie later when we can. For now, we address the risk.”
“We’ve taken out their driver,” said Erin. “What if someone takes the van to the police to get help? Or even to the nearest phone box.”
George looked at Murray. “You could drive.”
“I could,” said Murray.”
“No,” said the laird. “Murray’s our best shot. We need him here. If anyone goes it should be me.”
“I’m glad you said that.” Murray smiled and shook his head. “I’m not sure how I’d even explain this to the police. Though you’re a fine shot, Your Grace.”
The laird laughed. “There. We have the makings of a plan.”
“Father, on the point of the police, I must confess. I killed an unarmed man so he couldn’t follow us.” George lowered his head. “Also because I thought they had killed you.”
The laird rested his hand on George’s shoulder. “I’ll make it right with whoever it needs to be made right with. There’s no lack of honor in it. Do not doubt it.
“So then, I need to get to the van. Murray, you stay here with Simon and wait for their return. Once you’re all back in here, you don’t leave for anything until I arrive back with the cavalry.”
“I’ll look after the boy,” said Murray.
“Fox,” said Erin, “stay here and listen at the door. Max, you’re coming with me.”
George slowly opened the door and peeked outside. “It’s clear.” He opened it fully and led the way back through the secret passage.
The laird, bringing up the rear, shut the door behind them. The click it made as the latch locked into place sounded as final as breaking bone.
“Max, run on ahead and let me know if you hear any movement. If you sense trouble, come right back to us.”
Max loped off as they made their way ahead. The kitchens and the hallways were clear and they saw nothing as they moved back round to the entrance. The house was eerily quiet.
“Maybe they’ve gone,” said George. “They’ll have realized we’ve cut their numbers back and that they themselves might be in danger.”
“I very much doubt it, laddie.” The laird put an arm around George. “I’m sure they’re out there somewhere. They’ve come for sweet Erin and she’s still here.”
The van hadn’t been moved since they’d been here, and nor had the dead driver. The laird stood above his body. “Which one of you got the killing shot?”
“Erin did,” said George.
The laird pulled out his white handkerchief and soaked up some of the driver’s blood. He stood, turned to Grace, and brought the bloody cloth to her face, smearing her cheeks with it. “I tell you, you are no longer a girl, but a lady. You’ve taken arms and defended the Campbells against harm, and so I name you Erin Campbell, forever to be a protected member of our clan.”
As disgusted as she was by the blood on her face, she was taken with the words and what they meant and knew they were something special. She’d been accepted, and that meant everything.
She bowed to the laird and then hugged him.
Then George undid his belt, took off his sheaf knife, and handed it to her. “I was going to give you a different present tonight. But this is the appropriate gift. And you’ve earned it.”
Erin turned to George. “Does this mean we’re brother and sister now?”
“I hope not,” said George. “That would be totally awkward.”
She laughed
The laird climbed into the van.
The bullet struck George at the same time they heard the shot. George grasped the left side of his stomach and collapsed to the stone tiles with a soft curse.
The laird jumped out of the van and pulled him onto the rear seats. Then pulled off his jumper and gave it to George. “Keep this pressed into the wound.”
George grimaced and nodded.
The laird looked at her. “Get in. You’ll have to come with us.”
“No,” said Erin. “Get him to the hospital and call the police. I’ll cover you. They don’t want me dead, so it’s less risk.”
“I should be arguing with you, lass, but you’re talking good sense. You be careful.”
“Get him to safety,” she said.
The laird nodded and got into the van. In seconds he was off.
Erin ran back behind the outer wall and scanned the hills through her scope, but could see nothing. She kept watching until she figured the van had made it back to the main road, then took the same route back to the study.
She knocked on the door. “Murray, I’m back, let me in.”
What happened next was so fast it took Erin a moment to take it all in. A gunshot sounded just as she saw Murray. He was caught in the belly and fell back. A ferocious glare took his eyes. He raised his rifle and got a shot off, causing a scream from the unseen corridor.
Something slammed into the back of her and sent her flying into the room and onto her chest. By the time she’d turned around, one of the gunmen was standing above her holding a pistol to her face.
He picked up his radio. “Commander, I have her.”
“Keep her there, I’m on my way.”
It was just as the message ended that Fox reared up from the shadowy corner of the room. He jumped into the man, throwing him back onto the floor.
The man was fast—he turned and aimed his gun at Fox—but Erin was faster. As she’d fallen to the floor she’d pulled out the sheath knife. Before the man could fire, she slammed the cold steel blade into the soft flesh of his throat.
He gurgled and blood poured down his face. His hands were at his ruined neck, scrabbling as he gasped for air.
Grace scrambled over to Murray who was already examining the wound.