The Moon Stealers Box Set. Books 1-4 (Fantasy Dystopian Books for Teenagers)

by Tim Flanagan

  Rhys had been placed in the Health sector, together with two nurses and a carer. He sat down on the carpet and waited, carefully looking at the faces of every new guard that entered the room, to see if they looked like Steffan. He decided that, for now, he would follow the rest of the survivors and see what happened. Once he was part of the community he should be able to search the rest of Osborne House for any sign of his son. Those hopes were quickly extinguished when two other guards entered the room with a box full of rusty ankle restraints.

  Once everyone had been processed, one of the guards stood in the centre of the room and made an announcement. 'For your own safety you will be paired with another survivor from your group,' he shouted to everyone in the room. 'You must work together, eat together and sleep together. That way, no one will wander off. For your protection there will always be armed guards with your groups at all times, especially if you leave the safety of the house to work on the land or transfer to another building.'

  Two of the guards approached a pair of female survivors in the group opposite Rhys. The women backed away nervously, but the wall of the room prevented them from going too far. One of the guards roughly grabbed the ankle of one and began fastening a clamp around it. A short length of chain trailed off the clamp to another, which was secured around the second woman's ankle.

  They then moved onto a pair of men that sat on the floor in the same group.

  'I'm not going to be chained,' said one of them defiantly.

  'House rules, I'm afraid,' replied the guard, as if that was sufficient excuse.

  'I don't care if it's your rules; I'm not going to be chained like some sort of prisoner.'

  The second guard stepped forward. He held a gun in his hands then swung it down between the man's neck and shoulder, knocking him to the ground. The other guard quickly clamped an ankle restraint on whilst the man was vulnerable and in pain. The guard had demonstrated that resistance would only be met with violence and it was in their interest to comply with the rules. There was no other way to describe the situation they were in - they were prisoners and slaves to the community.

  No one else resisted the restraints.

  The silence inside the room was suddenly broken by the sound of a loud hollow horn that rang outside.

  'They've called the workers back to the house,' said one of the guards to another. 'It's getting earlier every day.'

  Once each of the survivors had been paired they were led down a narrow staircase and into a basement. It took concentration and coordination for them to work out how to walk in unison with the chains on, otherwise they would stumble forward.

  Inside the basement they were placed in chairs at a table. Within minutes of hearing the horn, other survivors were led into the basement by their guards who automatically grabbed a bowl of food and sat at a separate table keeping a clear division between the workers and the management. The basement quickly began to fill up with more people.

  One of the last groups to come down the stairs seemed different. Rhys sensed something about them. Instead of the despair and sadness that seemed to radiate from the other survivors, this last group still held their heads down, but there was a confidence in the way they walked and strength in the way they held themselves. The four guards that led them into the basement stood in the centre looking around at their surroundings.

  Rhys glanced across to a group of other survivors that were muttering excitedly. For the first time he saw a faint glimmer of a smile on a survivor's face. He looked back to the guards in the centre of the room and smiled to himself.

  28. Return to Osborne House

  A loud siren echoed through the afternoon air like the mating call of a male deer but amplified ten times louder. It was the signal that told every guard to return the survivors back to the house before the creatures came out to play.

  Steven was standing beneath the shadow of the garden porch, hidden from view but watching similar groups of chained people emerging from different parts of the surrounding countryside and entering the house through a small entrance to the right of the courtyard.

  'The number of guards depends on the size of the group they are allocated to watch over,' Steven whispered to Georgia who had just appeared at his elbow.

  'How many guards do you think there are altogether?'

  'I'm not sure, there could be many more inside the house watching over the workers there. But, from what I've seen, there are about five survivors to each guard. Given the right incentive and motivation we should easily be able to take the house.'

  'I hope so.' Georgia placed her hand gently on Steven's arm. 'Have you seen any sign of Annie?'

  Steven turned to face Georgia. 'No,' he said shaking his head. 'Maybe she's working on a job inside the house?'

  They heard the crunch of gravel behind them and turned to see Tracker approaching. There was a noticeable limp from his leg wound but he didn’t appear to notice it.

  'We're ready,' he said.

  Steven, Georgia and Tracker put on the jackets they had taken from the captured guards, together with baseball caps. Georgia stuffed her hair beneath the cap to look more masculine and tucked her injured arm inside a pocket. They had left the guards tied up inside the workshop and made sure all the windows and doors were locked. If the guards hadn’t been given the antibiotics, they would be too terrified to leave the workshop during the night with the creatures prowling around, but they also needed to prevent them coming into the house until they had it under control.

  Tracker led the survivors out through the porch and onto a path that would take them towards Osborne House. Each survivor obediently filed out with their heads cast down and their ankles chained together once again. They each carried their gardening equipment with them and slowly trudged along the slope towards the house. Steven, Georgia, and one of the other survivors, pretended to guard the line and motivate them forward.

  Tracker watched another group of survivors emerge from a path that led back towards their car. Ahead of him was the front of the house with a tower and grand entrance overlooking a courtyard with a raised bed of plants in the centre. But, this was not where the other group was heading. Instead they were being led towards a smaller door immediately to the right of the courtyard. The lead guard walked up a couple of steps between two stone carved boars and pushed the door open. Tracker briefly caught a glance of a corridor beyond, as well as a man with a gun slung over his shoulder and a clip board in his hand. Taking a small precaution just in case it was the old man that had admitted them into the Bank of England, Tracker pulled the peak of his cap further over his forehead to shield his eyes. Fortunately over the previous days a blonde growth of hair had begun to cover his cheeks and chin, making him appear different.

  The repetitive clanking of chains slowed as the line of survivors automatically merged into a single line ready to enter the house. So far all of the survivors had played their part perfectly. No one had aroused suspicion, acting like they had done on previous days under the suppression of Coldred's community. The only difference this time was that they also had a key to unlock themselves when the time was right.

  Several of the survivors looked up nervously, glancing between Tracker, Steven and Georgia. They all knew that once they were inside the house they would have to go through with the plan. If it failed, escape would be difficult, or worse, they could be left as food for the creatures as punishment.

  Tracker walked up the steps and pushed his weight against the door. It swung into a long corridor that had arched glass windows along the left side looking out into the courtyard. The long strip of carpet that had once covered the corridor was now rolled up and stacked in stages amongst the marble pillars and pure white statues that lined the way. The floor was a mosaic of tiles, far more hard wearing for workers to walk along than the carpet. The corridor was broken up by several white arches with doors to the right leading through to other rooms and sections of the house, but everyone else seemed to be heading straight down the corridor
and turning left at the end.

  'Afternoon,' Tracker casually said to the guard at the door. He purposely tried to avoid eye contact, hoping that the guard wouldn’t recognise him, or realise that he was not a guard he had seen before.

  'Which section?' the guard asked.

  'Walled garden.'

  'They can't bring in their tools,' said the guard looking at the survivors lined up behind Tracker with the long handles of hoes and rakes sticking up, whilst others leaned on spades and forks.'

  Tracker had anticipated that there may be some difficulty getting the gardening equipment into the house, but for their plan to work, the survivors would need weapons.

  'They've been ordered to sharpen and maintain them over night.'

  'I wasn’t informed of this.'

  'That doesn't surprise me,' bluffed Tracker, 'I was only told this morning by Kilmartin as I took them across the grass.'

  'This morning?'

  Tracker quickly realised his mistake. He had forgotten that the creatures didn’t go into hiding until mid day when the sun was at its strongest. 'I meant this afternoon. I made sure they brushed all the mud of their equipment before bringing it to the house, so there won't be a problem. Considering the amount of work they've been doing lately, it's no wonder they're getting blunt. If they can't sharpen them, it makes the work slower and less productive. Orders were to increase productivity. The amount of food is starting to decrease, fresh food and vegetables are needed as soon as possible.'

  'OK, take them into the Pavilion,' the guard reluctantly said.

  Tracker turned to the survivor immediately behind him.

  'Move through,' he shouted.

  The first survivor stepped into the corridor closely followed by the colleague he was chained to. Tracker stood aside letting a few of them begin walking down the corridor, before falling in alongside them.

  As they walked along the corridor Tracker slipped the key to the ankle chains into the pocket of the nearest survivor.

  'The key to the chains,' he whispered. 'You know what to do.'

  The survivor gave a shallow nod, but didn’t dare raise his head in case one of the house guards was watching.

  They all moved slowly through the door and into the house. Once they were inside the door closed with a bang that echoed down the empty corridor to the head of the line.

  Towards the end of the corridor was a turning on the left which the other survivors had followed, however before he turned Tracker noticed a glass panelled door on the right through which he could hear the crackle of music that sounded like it was being played on an old gramophone record player. The tunes were ones he recognised from the Second World War - American Big Band and George Formby.

  The corridor turned to the left and through two archways. Just after the second arch there was a small door that opened into a gap with stairs heading up as well as down. Tracker walked just behind two of the survivors so that they could show him where to go. For a pair of survivors who were chained together, managing to manoeuvre down the steps towards the basement was difficult. Tracker could hear a muted chatter coming from the grey rooms below. At the bottom of the stairs the narrow passage connected to a series of rooms that were all linked by open doors. Tracker could see some of the rooms had mattresses lined up along the walls, whilst others had metal framed bunk beds.

  As soon as they had descended the stairs it felt like there was a change in the atmosphere. The survivors began to lift their heads and show a confidence that they had not had above ground. Here, in the basement, the survivors were in their own world. Guards kept themselves to a side room, eating separately from the others, but took it in turns strolling amongst the survivors checking that everyone was being kept in order.

  The line of survivors that Tracker was leading automatically dispersed and merged into the thick group of others that had returned to the house for their evening meal. The level of chatter began to increase. Tracker hoped that the survivors from the walled garden were spreading the word and gaining support for an uprising. He stood with Steven, Georgia and the other fake guard in the centre of the room, noticing the occasional nervous glance towards him by some of the other survivors that confirmed the plan was being spread. The tools the group had brought with them from the garden appeared to have discreetly vanished, hidden in dark corners ready to be retrieved when needed.

  'Here,' said one of the guards that was walking around the room. He pushed a bowl of rice mixed with a brown gravy into Tracker's hands. 'I'd grab some quickly if I were you. Johnson's already on his second bowl.'

  'What about the workers?'

  'Them?' he pointed to the survivors gathering and muttering together. 'They'll get theirs as soon as we've finished. If Johnson leaves anything.' The guard laughed and went to sit down next to a large man shovelling the rice mixture into his mouth as if he was in a race.

  The other three grabbed a bowl from a table and went to sit down with the other guards. All four of them sat at different sections of the table.

  A bell rang signalling the other survivors could approach the food distribution table. They all took a small cereal bowl and a single ladle of food, half the portion the guards had eaten, despite them doing the work during the day.

  Tracker glanced across to the survivors who all began to quickly eat what little food they had. He recognised some of the faces from the garden. When they looked up and caught his eye they nodded briefly, signalling support for the plan. One of the guards got up from the table and went to patrol amongst the survivors. Occasionally he slapped one of them across the back of their head for eating too loudly or splashing gravy on his boots, which were already dirty from use. Satisfied that the survivors were behaving in the proper manner, he returned to the guard's table and joked with his neighbour.

  The time ticked on.

  The shadows inside the basement began to get longer and darker until everyone seemed to be nothing more than a grey shadow of their daytime selves. The screams of creatures outside the thick walls of the house began for the night.

  29. A World within a World

  ‘Edgar?’ muttered Joe, unable to believe what had just happened in front of his eyes. He stared down on Edgar’s body that now rested amongst the stones near the edge of the lake. He waited, hoping to see a sign that the knight was still alive. But, inside, he knew there was no way that anyone could survive falling from such a height. A numb feeling was building up inside him, mixed with a tightness in his stomach that made him feel sick.

  He turned to Max. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We have to carry on,’ Max replied with a salty tear stinging his eyes. ‘Edgar led us here, now it's up to us to finish it.’

  Joe nervously glanced up the side of the mountain, checking for other creatures.

  ‘Do you think there will be more?’

  ‘Maybe, but like Edgar said, there is less food here, so if we’re lucky we might not see any more. But, I think we should be prepared, just in case.’ Max reached inside the small rucksack and pulled out Joe’s sword and passed it to him. He slipped the Green Huntsmen’s bow, together with a quiver full of arrows, over his shoulder then discarded the bag on the ledge.

  'Come on,' said Max. He held on to Joe's wrist and began leading him down the rest of the mountain. After stepping down a couple more ledges, they became aware of a windy sound coming from above. Another creature dived through the mist that swirled at the top of the mountain, directly towards them, twisting away at the very last minute and forcing the boys up against the rock face. Watching the creature sweep round ready to attack them again, they quickly took the next few ledges at a jump. The lower down the mountain they went, the more it began to level out allowing them to run along a wider, more worn path.

  The creature arced back towards them.

  With a firmer footing, Joe and Max sprinted along the smooth rock towards the motionless water at the edge of Lake Idwal. The black shadow of the creature circled above them, watching and waiting fo
r the moment to strike. Joe continued running while Max skidded to a halt. He slipped the bow off his shoulder and pulled an arrow. He took aim at the creature, moving his bow in time as he traced the movements of the Moon Stealer above them. He released the arrow, but the creature twisted away, changed direction before sweeping down towards them. By now Joe had approached Edgar’s lifeless body. Suddenly, he noticed a small movement in Edgar’s face. Joe took a short intake of breath as hope exploded through his body. The grey hairs of Edgar’s beard flickered once again above his lips, but he quickly realised that the movement was caused by the breeze funnelled between the mountains and not by the old knight breathing. Edgar’s eyes seemed dull and cloudy, and fixed on an imaginary point somewhere above him.

  Joe reached his hand out to Edgar.

  'No!' shouted Max, running towards him. 'What ever you do, don’t touch the creature’s blood!' He could see the Moon Stealer he had shot at, skimming across the surface of the lake. It was heading straight towards them once again. He notched another arrow into his bow as he drew up beside Joe; he stood absolutely rigid, his eye level with the shaft of wood watching the creature draw nearer and nearer. Joe looked up from Edgar's body and pulled his sword out ready to defend their position. But the creature didn’t flinch, its body weightlessly glided above the water, a trailing wing tip occasionally cutting through the surface of the water slicing a line across the lake.

  Max waited until the creature was closer. He knew that he was not a skilled archer and would not have enough power to shoot an arrow over a long distance and be on target. But, the nearer the creature came, the easier a target it became. However, the nearer it got, the more it also put the two boys in danger.