Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight

by Robert Jackson-Lawrence

  “Why has it gotta be us doing this, Sarge?” one voice asked.

  “Because that’s what we’ve been told, that’s why, so stop your complaining,” the other voice said.

  There was a heavy thud as though something had been dropped and then the conversation stopped for a while. Carl and Peter looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Going back probably wouldn’t help them, perhaps only leading them further away from the prisoners, but Carl wasn’t sure if he could risk open gunfire and the attention it would bring. Fortunately, the decision was taken out of his hands.

  “Hey, watch what you’re doing,” the second voice said. “Oh for…just look what you’ve done now. I’m going to go and get myself cleaned up.”

  The voice grew louder and both men heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Acting far more on instinct than foresight and planning, Carl stood from his crouched position and ran around the corner with his machine gun propped against his shoulder, taking in the scene in front of him in a split second.

  A tall lean man was stepping through a doorway, white T-shirt and army trousers smeared in blood, though he looked uninjured. The shocked expression as he saw Carl was quickly removed as three or four bullets passed cleanly through his face, killing him instantly.

  By the time Peter was around the corner after him, Carl was already most of the way to the doorway, following surprised sounds from inside the room. Carl half ran to the opening and shot down the second man just inside the room before he even had chance to retrieve a weapon. Running on adrenaline, and ignoring his sense of danger, Carl immediately stepped through the doorway to ensure that the second man was dead. A moment later, Peter was at his side.

  The second man was dead also, but it was not that which stunned both men to silence. They had found the source of the bumps and bangs, and also the bloodstain.

  The room was half full of wooden crates, mostly nailed shut, but some were still being filled. Both men saw the contents, bodies of Carl’s friends and companions from the Road Trains, piled high within the crates until there was room for no more. Men, women, and children, knife and bullet wounds having killed them all. In the open crate before him, Carl immediately recognised the face of Daniel, Catrina’s older son. He had to rest his hands on the side of the crate to steady himself.

  Peter rested a hand on Carl’s shoulder, which was immediately shaken off. Peter found that he could no longer look at the faces of the bodies and had to turn away.

  “Why?” was all Carl could say, his mouth dry and his eyes wet.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter offered, though he doubted that Carl could hear him. Peter could imagine the reason, but he didn’t think that Carl would want to hear it, at least not now. The prisoners were to be executed in the morning, but for all of the hatred between north and south, there would be very few people who would want to see children hung. Most of the people had probably been killed during the initial assault, but Peter had seen the two children inside the crate had been killed by the single head shot of an execution.

  The new Regent would no doubt have a story, explaining it all away, but Peter was glad that he wouldn’t be there to hear it.

  His concentration was broke by the sound of heavy footfalls from outside of the room, getting closer. He had dropped the crossbow to the floor and was removing the rifle from his shoulder as Carl pushed past him through the open doorway, his eyes blazing with a lust for vengeance.

  Carl cleanly disposed of the two men at the front of the oncoming trio, head shots, first one and then the other in one swift motion. The third person, the older Simon Collingwood, ran to a stop a few metres in front of Carl. He dropped his weapon and snapped his arms above his head, his whole body now shaking with terror. With the muzzle of his machine gun still aimed at the guard’s head, Carl watched the small dark patch on the man’s trousers slowly begin to grow.

  By the time Peter stepped through the doorway, Carl already had the situation well in hand.

  “Where are the prisoners?” Carl asked, his voice that of emotionless authority.

  The guard gestured that they were somewhere behind him, though he never took his eyes from the tip of the machine gun aimed at his head.

  “Show me,” Carl demanded, taking a step towards him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the guard slowly turned his body, though he kept his head on the gun for as long as his neck would allow. Peter clanged along behind them, collecting as many of the weapons as he could carry.

  The terrified guard, his arms still held above his head, led the two men through more stone walled corridors to Matthew’s cell, much to the appreciation of those inside. The guard fumbled with his keys, dropping them once and hurriedly returning them to the lock, wary of Carl’s wrath. Carl pulled the guard out of the way and threw him against the opposite wall once the door was unlocked.

  “Hey, that you, Carl?” Matthew asked. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

  Matthew openly hugged Carl as he stepped through the door, slapping him on the back. As he looked up, he noticed Peter standing a short distance down the corridor.

  “And Peter?” Matthew asked warily, unsure as to whether he was friend or foe.

  Peter quickly offered him a weapon, ending his uncertainty.

  “Come on,” Peter said. “I’m surprised half the palace Guard isn’t down on us already after all the gunfire. We don’t have much time.”

  “Wait, what about Ben and the others?” Matthew said.

  Carl turned his weapon back towards the guard, who muttered “down, down there,” pointing vaguely over Carl’s shoulder. Carl resisted the urge to shoot him. Instead, he swung the butt of the gun towards the guard’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  Arian and Safran helped each other from the cell, weary from their ordeal. Arian whispered something into Matthew’s ear and he returned to the cell.

  “Where’s Edward?” Carl asked, but the way neither woman could meet his gaze told him instantly. He offered them his coat and his condolences, though he was yet to face Catrina. As Matthew helped her from the cell, the look on Carl’s and Peter’s faces told her all she needed to know about her children.

  “Adam, Daniel?” she managed to mouth, but no sound escaped her lips.

  “Too late,” was all Carl was able to say.

  Her face had a tortured quality that neither of them had ever seen, though she was unable to cry. Her silence had persisted from the time of Edward’s death, and looked as though it would continue to do so. Instead, she dropped to the floor and curled herself into a ball, hugging her knees as she rocked back and forth.

  Matthew lowered himself to her level, conscious of the loss of his nephews, but also aware of the need to get everyone out as soon as possible. If he had heard the gunfire, he was sure that the rest of the palace had as well, so it was only a matter of time before half of the palace guard was on top of them.

  “Catrina, we’ve got to go,” he insisted. “Come on, we’re running out of time.”

  Catrina continued to sit there, rocking, seemingly oblivious of the world around her, waiting for all of the bad things to go away and it was time to wake up.

  Peter distributed the weapons, including a pistol that Matthew took and handed to Catrina. She accepted it, clasping it in her hands and scrutinising it as though it was the first real thing that she had ever seen.

  “Come on, Catrina, please,” Matthew continued, stroking her face. Eventually, she met his gaze and rose slowly to her feet. Peter was already moving slowly forwards with Safran and Arian while Carl stood waiting, watching the two of them and showing more emotion than the two of them combined.

  With a look, Carl told Matthew that he would watch her, allowing Matthew to catch up with his wife-to-be, pulling her close to him as Peter cautiously moved further down the corridor, looking for any prisoners in the other cells.

  Blam.

  The first shot resonated around the confines of the narrow corridor, Matthew throwing himself on top of A
rian and Safran as they instinctively dropped to the ground, Carl and Peter swinging their weapons around to cover the corridor behind them as the second shot rang out.

  Blam. Blam. Blam.

  Both men held back their urge to fire as they watched, open-mouthed as Catrina continued to fire into the once unconscious, but now dead, guard.

  Blam. Blam. Blam. Click. Click. Click.

  Matthew peered over his shoulder, taking in the full horror of what was occurring, a scene of cold-blooded murder and vengeance, and the look of pure hatred on the face of his sister.

  Carl and Peter were frozen in their positions, weapons still trained on the woman, fingers still lingering on the triggers as they stood, still disbelieving at what they were seeing.

  Click. Click. Click. Click.

  Matthew rose to his feet and moved past Carl to Catrina's side, taking hold of her hand as she continued to fire the empty weapon. Click. With an effort, he was able to prise open the death grip of her fingers and take the gun from her, tossing it down the corridor and away from the small group of people. He pulled Catrina close to him, trying not to look at the mutilated and blood soaked corpse at his feet.

  For the first time since their capture, Catrina started to cry, sobbing into his shoulder. Whether it was because of her actions, or the reason behind her actions, even she was not entirely sure.

  His rifle still in his hand, Matthew escorted his sister along the corridor, close behind the rest of the small group in search of the remaining survivors.

  The second cell was a lot easier to find, the prisoners inside shouting for help at the sound of the gunfire. Not wanting to waste time finding the correct key, Peter ordered the prisoners back and shot out the lock.

  The six prisoners, Mike and Joe among them, quickly helped themselves to weapons and urged the rest of the group to show them to the exit. Ben, however, was still nowhere to be seen.

  “We can’t just leave him behind if he's alive,” Matthew stated, shuffling nervously as though there was an army of guards around every corner. “By rights he shouldn’t even be here. We got him into this.”

  “Where’d he go?” Carl asked

  “They took him some time ago,” Matthew said. “We’ve not seen him since.”

  “That happened here too,” Joe cut in. “They questioned us and most didn’t come back. Chances are, he’s already dead.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Matthew insisted. “Alexander only took him, and I think it was for a reason. I can’t see him killing him unless he had to.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Matthew,” Mike added, “but you’re on your own. We’ve wasted far too much time already.”

  “He’s right,” Peter said.

  “Okay, Pete,” Matthew replied. “You get these people out and I’ll follow on after, but I think we really have to look for him.”

  “I’m with you boss, there’s no way you’d find your way out on your own,” Carl said to Matthew before turning to Peter. “Same way we came in?”

  “Okay, fine, and I promise you we’ll wait for you, well, as long as we can. You have my word,” Peter replied, looking around the survivors nervously.

  Arian looked concerned, but Matthew pulled her close to him and kissed her goodbye, promising that he would return.

  In the end, Mike stayed with Carl and Matthew, watching their backs as they ran through the corridors, calling out Ben’s name. They had still seen no more guards below the palace, and that was starting to worry both Carl and Matthew, perhaps more so than if they were under attack. They had both realised that something was very wrong with the whole escape.

  The three men slowed as they neared an open doorway, raising their weapons as they edged closer to the frame. It was Matthew who took the plunge, bursting around the doorway.

  “Oh no. Guys, get in here!” Matthew shouted as he saw Ben’s body, slumped in a chair.

  “He still alive?” Mike asked as he covered the doorway, allowing Matthew and Carl the chance to investigate.

  Feeling Ben’s neck for a pulse, Matthew said, “He’s still with us, but barely. We’ve got to get him out of here.”

  Carl withdrew his knife and began cutting away Ben’s restraints, catching his body as it fell forwards in the chair. “What have they done to him?” he asked generally.

  From the colour, and more precisely the smell of the vomit that covered Ben’s clothes and the surrounding floor, Matthew had a fair idea. “Droca weed,” he stated, helping Carl lift Ben’s body from the chair.

  The two men struggled to move Ben’s lifeless body from the chair, his legs dragging along the floor as they pulled him along between them. Matthew supported Ben’s lolling head by the hair, shaking it and shouting at Ben to try and get a response. The open but vacant eyes told him not to bother.

  “Here, boss, you take this,” Carl said, handing Matthew the machine gun, “and I’ll get him out of here. Come on, time to leave.”

  Carl lifted Ben’s body and balanced it over his shoulder, fireman style, and followed the two men out of the door. The pressure on Ben’s stomach emptied the remainder of the Droca weed onto Carl’s back, but he was too busy to notice.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Mike asked, taking Ben’s pager from a small shelf opposite the open doorway. He turned it over in his hand before showing it to Matthew.

  “It’s Ben’s, but what’s it doing here?” Matthew replied, puzzled. “Look, just bring it. We’ve got to go.”

  Mike led the way, Carl shouting directions from behind him as he struggled along with Ben’s body, Matthew bringing up the rear.

  The first spat of gunfire struck the wall behind Matthew’s head as he instinctively ducked for cover. Carl directed them around a corner, bullets splintering the stone as they turned it, narrowly missing them. Mike joined Matthew to help push back the attacking force.

  Mike and Matthew fired together as the first guard rounded the corner, almost cutting him in half as the bullets tore through his chest to the wall behind. This managed to make the rest of the guards more cautious, and they were able to run after Carl as he continued down the corridor to the exit. They had turned another corner by the time more bullets pocked the stonework behind them.

  A moment later, and Carl was descending the stairs to the open doorway that would allow them to escape, a line of weapons aimed at him as he burst through to the tunnels beyond. Matthew and Mike followed slowly behind, shooting back through the doorway to deter the guards before lowering their weapons. Arian clung to Matthew fiercely.

  “Here, give me that,” Mike shouted at one of the other prisoners, snatching a lantern from his hand and throwing it through the doorway at the steps beyond.

  The glass lantern shattered as it struck, casting oil throughout the corridor, which quickly caught light, engulfing the area in flames. Mike closed the door behind him and quickly followed the rest of the group, who were already making their way through the network of subterranean tunnels.

  At a little after dawn, the sun still low over the watery horizon, Peter led the group out of a natural cave close to the sea, two small rowing boats attached to a jetty.

  “They’re old,” he pointed out, “but they should get you to the mainland.”

  Carl laid Ben gently on the floor before going to check out the boats. Ben murmured “home, home again” when Carl put him down, but his gaze was still fixed far in the distance and he said nothing more when prompted.

  “So this is how you beat the siege?” Carl asked as he rocked the boats in the water, finding that they were indeed stable and seaworthy.

  “So I’m told,” Peter said. He stepped from the jetty to a small alcove at the rear of the cavern and, after calling for help, he and Matthew dragged crates out to the waiting group.

  Prising open the top, they found the food and supplies a century old, rotted well beyond all recognition. There were also some clothes, which, although they didn’t smell too good, were distributed to those who needed them.

  Catrina
was again unresponsive, sitting crouched on the floor, hugging her legs. She didn’t protest when Arian and Safran dressed her with the clothes that had been given to her, but she didn’t help them either. When they were happy that she was as warm as she was going to be, Arian and Safran left her alone.

  “How are you holding up, my Lady?” Matthew asked as the two women approached.

  “I’ll be fine, just as soon as you get me back to my father,” Safran replied, arms wrapped around her against the cold.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, “but I don’t think that’ll be any time soon.”

  Before she had time to protest, Matthew had left her and returned to the main part of the cavern.

  “Okay, people,” he shouted, taking on his role of leader once again, “everyone on the boats. There should be enough room for everybody if we’re careful.”

  As the boats were slowly filled, Matthew went to Peter to ask him what he was going to do next.

  “I can’t go back, they’ll know what I’ve done,” he said. “They’ll execute me instead of you guys.”

  “You’re welcome to come with us, you know,” Matthew told him. “I’m sorry. I know what you’ve done for us, turning against your people.”

  “I haven’t turned against anybody,” Peter insisted. “I’m just doing what's right. Once this new Regent is shown for what he is, I’ll be right back here, doing my job and cracking a few heads. It’ll only be a matter of time.”

  “Fine by me, Pete,” Matthew said, tapping Peter on the back. “But for now why don’t you get yourself onto one of the boats. We could still use your help."

  A short time later, the boats left the quiet of the small jetty on their way to the mainland.

  XIV

  By the time the boats were halfway across the bay, Alexander was making the final preparations for the executions. His door was opened by one of the palace Guards.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Alexander said to the guard without looking up from his plans. “Did they all escape?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. It was Samuel Larson, the guard who had supported Ben’s head during his interrogation.