A voice emerged, only just discernible amid his haze of suffering. A loud yell, from beyond the walls.
“GO!”
He looked up, and saw the trunk slam through the gates.
The ’wraiths were in.
* * *
Cathy watched as the bellowing crowd hurled itself towards the breach.
Finally, it was dawning upon her, for the first time in that torturous night – what she was witnessing was the end of Bately. A clamouring, bloody, unexpected end she had not been prepared for. She had survived the rocks, only to die in this unreal battle, after the end of the world.
Or perhaps, this was still the rocks. A delayed effect, a ripple on the surface of time, spreading like a seismic wave that had only just caught up with her.
Around her, people were still shooting, hopelessly trying to halt the attack. But people were dead, too. She dared not look, not because she was afraid of seeing corpses (she was a nurse, after all). Rather, she was afraid of recognising them. These weren’t dead bodies. They were dead neighbours, friends, fellow survivors.
The people of Bately.
And, although it hurt her pride to admit it, she wished she had had the chance to talk to Edward. Listen to him. Lie to herself, in order to believe the lies he would have told her, about his wife, about his love for her, Bately’s heroic nurse.
He was somewhere down there, now – maybe dead, maybe trying to fend off the attackers. Or had he retreated inside the castle, to be with his family, in those last few moments?
Pull yourself together, you idiot. You’re talking like you’re already dead.
It was true. Her life might very well have ended that night, but she wasn’t going to go whining like an apocalyptic drama queen.
Her thoughts had distracted her. She almost missed what was going on in Castle Square.
A group of ’wraiths who were firing up towards the walls’ walkway, providing cover for the breaching mob, were suddenly projected upwards. It was as if some herculean force, a subterranean titan, had pushed them, from under ground.
Then, it happened again, ten or so yards away.
A flash, a bang, and more ’wraiths went flying.
Hand grenades.
Yes, it was hand grenades, exploding among the Pack.
“The Guard!” called Bill, pointing to the north side of Castle Square. “It’s the Guard!”
There they were, swift and efficient and armed to the teeth. Cathy couldn’t hold herself, and she actually jumped for joy. Everyone did. They let out triumphant cries and cheers, welcoming their arrival.
The Pack was now fighting on two fronts. Some ’wraiths, presumably higher-ranking ones, began barking orders, trying to adapt to the new development. They still outnumbered Bately’s defenders, but they lacked the training and the skill of Bill’s men.
At the foot of the walls, the ’wraiths pushed harder, trying to get in before the Guard advanced enough to interfere. Those standing closer to the edge of the square turned and assaulted the Guard soldiers, weapons raised.
“We might just make it, Bill,” Cathy said, shouting above the clamour.
Bill was frowning – hopeful, but not entirely convinced. “We’ll do our best, Cathy. It’s all we can do.”
* * *
He’d lit the fire, of course.
A signal, he realised, for the Pack to attack Bately. This was all his fault.
Moore was aware of the ’wraiths penetrating the gates. The defenders were fighting bravely, aided by the bottleneck created by the truck, which caused the enemy to enter in small handfuls at a time. But these were violent, aggressive handfuls. And the sheer number of them would soon overpower their limited defences. It was already happening.
He was loosing blood, fast. He tried moving, crawling towards the castle entrance, but it was impossible. Unbearable stabs of pain struck him, every time he shifted his wounded leg.
Yes, I started this, with that fire, he thought. The fire they got me to light, threatening Lucy’s life. The mother of my son.
The story he had told the Council, when he got there (his ordeal with Mathew, their eventful trip down from London), had been incomplete. A lie. He remembered that cold morning, waking up to Mathew’s cries. Lucy had gone missing. In her place, a note, with a detailed set of instructions. If they wanted to see her again, they’d head to Bately. They’d join the community. Then, a sign would come, and he’d light the bonfire. A precise description of the spot, a couple of miles from town, along the shore. They were not to mention any of this, to anyone.
We’ll know if you do, the note read. Should we believe you’ve alerted them in any way, we will kill her.
The note also mentioned the arrival of one of their men. Someone who had a very important mission to carry out. Moore was to do everything he could to antagonise him, in the eyes of the townsfolk.
When Jeremy had shown up, just before their trip to Ashford, he knew immediately that someone was him.
So Moore had done everything the kidnappers – whoever they were – had asked of him, betraying the trust of the good people of this town. All for the sake of a woman he hadn’t loved for years, now, and who no longer loved him. But of course, there was no way he was going to let her die, leaving his son without a mother. His hands were tied. If only he could tell Cathy–
“Dad?”
It was Mathew’s voice. Moore thought he was hearing things. Too much blood loss.
But the voice came again. “Dad? Are you okay?.
There was movement, around him, by the entrance of the castle. People. He felt a loving hand on his arm. Trying not to howl in pain, he rolled over, and there he was, his son.
“It’s all right, Dad, I’ll get you out of here.” His face was pale with concern.
Moore saw the others. Paul was there, too. Some of those who had found refuge inside must have decided to come out, and lend a hand. They held impromptu weapons – stones, sticks, pieces of furniture they’d taken from the castle.
Mathew passed his father’s arm around his shoulder, and gently lifted him up.
“You’ll be all right, Dad. You’ll be all right.”
Moore felt he was about to pass out.
In that limbo of consciousness, only half aware of what was going on around him, he felt something was wrong. Things somehow didn’t add up.
Had the purpose of the fire really been to alert the Pack? If so, why have him light it on the beach, virtually invisible from the ‘wraith layer? Why would they keep their word, and return his wife, only to storm Bately, and kill them all?
The pressure of Mathew’s arm around him was comforting. He suddenly felt old and worn. Maybe a bit of sleep would help. Maybe, that’s all he really needed: a bit of rest…
Suddenly, he understood. It was obvious.
They’re all here. The Guard and the ’wraiths, in the same spot.
“Mathew, we have to–” he began. But it was too late.
Chapter 30
Divide et Impera
When the ground shook, Alice and Adrian reached out for each other’s hand.
Before the end of it all, they had stayed in the large hall, with the others, until Father Paul left.
“We’re going to help the people outside, children,” he had told them. Adrian knew he was afraid he might not see them again. He had hugged them tight, before leaving. Mathew and his mother had gone, too.
There was movement, in the hall, as many left. Some begged their loved ones to stay inside, others pushed through, as if they couldn’t wait to go and fight, leaving the safety of the castle behind.
But Adrian knew there was no safety.
Taking advantage of the chaos, he grabbed Alice by the arm, and whispered, “We have to go, Ally.”
“What about Math–” she stopped quickly, then said, “But the others? Father Paul, and–”
“Trust me, Ally,” Adrian insisted, trying to ignore what she had said. “We have to go.”
They had scuttled
through the crowd, making for one of the many doors that opened on the hall. Adrian noticed she kept turning around, uncertain whether this was a good thing to do. But it was. If those grown ups couldn’t keep her safe, he would.
Very quickly, it felt like they were in a different world.
A dark corridor. The noises from outside fading away, behind the thick walls, until they could no longer hear them.
Despite everything, Adrian liked this. To be alone together, once again. The silence was nice, too. It made him feel like, if he tried hard enough, maybe she could read his thoughts. All those things he couldn’t quite say to her.
They reached a staircase, and stopped. The corridor continued, disappearing into shadow.
“We should go up, Ady,” said Alice. “If we find a window, we could see how things are going, outside.”
“And maybe find a way to get out of town,” he added. “It would be easier, from up there.” Alice nodded hesitantly.
They crept up the stairs, and found another corridor, on the upper floor. Once again, they could hear the clashing from the battle. Adrian opened a door, on the side it was coming from, and they found themselves in what was once a bedroom. A modern bedroom, not something out of the Middle Ages. It had belonged to a caretaker, maybe. A worn bed, an old mattress rotting on top of it. Dust all over the floor, a missing windowpane. Light from the torches outside danced wildly on the ceiling.
“Let’s look,” Alice said.
Outside, in the courtyard, the ’wraiths seemed to be losing. They were getting through the gates, but the people inside the castle were fighting them off.
In the square, things were different. Mr. Hughes’ men and the ’wraiths were firing at each other, but it was hard to say who was winning.
“We should go round, to the other side,” said Adrian. “See if we can find a way out from there.”
“Look, there’s Father Paul!”
The priest was straight below them. He was kneeling by someone who had been wounded. Close by, they saw Mathew and his father. Mathew as helping him up. There was lots of blood.
“Do you think they can beat the ’wraiths, Ady?”
Adrian wasn’t sure. In any case, he never got the chance to answer Alice’s question.
Because, just as his lips parted, the battle came to an end.
* * *
Three blinding flashes. Three deafening explosions.
The children were thrown backwards, on the cold floor. All Alice could hear, was a high-pitched ring, a little like the sound mummy’s kettle would make, when she had her friends over for tea. Alice lay there for a second, eyes closed tight, trying to remember.
Mummy.
She desperately held on to those unexpected images, repeating, over and over, Don’t move. Lie still. Keep your eyes closed. Mummy is here. Mummy will take you back. Back to how things were before.
“Alice?”
Shut up Ady, shut up, shut up, let Mummy take me–
“Ally… can you hear me?”
And with that, the images were gone.
She felt like screaming, jumping up and scratching Ady and hurting him. But she knew it wasn’t his fault. Eyes still closed, she bit her lip, and nodded. Trying to hold back the tears.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know…”
He helped her up, and they returned to the window.
In the square, everyone was dead.
They saw hundreds of bodies, scattered all over the place. ’Wraiths and Guards, motionless, bloody, dismembered. Absolute stillness, after the chaos of war.
“Ady… look.”
He couldn’t see them, at first. It was too dark. But slowly, gradually, the figures emerged, darker than darkness.
The men in the black uniforms.
They stood in the distance, as motionless as the corpses. Their uniforms were flapping gently, in the wind.
Alone, in that cold room, her trembling fingers met his.
* * *
Frank Bailey, Bill Hughes, Ms. Brand. Countless Guards and ’wraiths.
All dead.
Paul, still shaking, rose to his feet. His mouth was open, but he couldn’t breathe. His gaze drifted on all those bodies, the ones of those who had come to the gates, to help fend off the invasion, and the ones beyond the gates. There was nothing out there but death. It was like staring into a circle of hell.
With stumbling feet, he reached the walls. A sea of corpses and blood and guts lay past them.
Paul covered his eyes with a quivering palm, and wept.
He felt the warmth of another body beside him. It was Cathy. They looked at one another. Two sets of tearful eyes.
“The others–?” said Paul.
Cathy pointed towards the castle. Moore was badly wounded, but alive. He saw Mathew, too. Neeson was trying to reanimate one of his men. Few people moving, like ghosts in the mist.
Paul recognised the uniforms instantly. He’d seen one before, worn by the man he was about to kill. They marched towards the castle, their pace unhurried, controlled.
Bately no longer had the Guard to defend it. And this new enemy appeared far more fearsome than the Pack had been.
Voices poured out, from within the castle. Paul wished he could tell them to stop, to stay inside. Nothing they’d see, out here, would give them comfort.
The scant group of survivors watched, as that dark army walked towards them, in the night. A man (one Paul would learn to fear) led them. He stopped in the middle of Castle Square, his eyes coldly surveying the destruction their mortars had brought about. He looked satisfied.
Suddenly, just feet away from that figure, someone rose from the mounds of bodies. A ’wraith. He began to run, in a useless, almost grotesque attempt to save his life. Paul recognised him – it was the one they called Alpha ’Wraith. He was wounded, and covered in blood. Almost immediately, he tripped over a corpse, and fell to the ground.
The man in the uniform walked slowly towards him, until he was standing above the cowering wretch.
“Please–” they heard the ’wraith say, his voice small, whiny. “Please let me go, I–”
The other man drew out a pistol. In one single motion, he leaned it against the ’wraith’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through Castle Square, the body dropped to the ground, and silence returned.
Paul found himself reaching out for Cathy’s hand, and holding it, just as Adrian was doing, somewhere above them, inside the castle.
And just when they felt nothing else could happen, that the whole world, their world, had somehow ended, they heard the sound.
Indistinct, at first. Muffled, but all-present, like blood rushing through one’s ears. But it was familiar, one they’d all heard before, hundreds of times. A low, powerful hum, resounding from the sky.
Paul, Cathy and the others all looked up, and saw the lights. They flashed, intermittently, only just visible beyond the thick clouds.
The lights of a plane.
They all stood there for a long time, both victims and invaders, faces towards the heavens. Silently contemplating the miracle of that flying machine from the past.
Chapter 31
A Kingdom of One
The rule of King James I of Walscombe was a lonely one.
He spent most of his time with his ass in the Royal Swivel Chair, perusing his kingdom far and wide, travelling leisurely along, on its trusted little wheels.
Wherever he ventured, silence and emptiness greeted him. There was no one to respond to his elegant waves of the hand, his noble smiles. It was kinda lame. So much so, that he ended up disliking his realm, and mostly carrying out the duties of his former life, when he was a simple senior security officer within a top-secret military installation.
Thus, His Highness’s rule was made of endless days, after the end of Man, waiting for an end of his own.
“Maybe I should use humanity, rather than man, there,” Walscombe said to Audrey. “D
on’t wanna go pissing off the feminists, right?”
He’d got the name – Audrey – from that old musical, The Little Shop of Horrors. Thought it was kind of fitting, in a way. Except maybe the fact that the little plant he had inherited from Jeff was just about the only non-horrific thing in the world, right now.
Walscombe was watering it, gently removing little earth stains from its tender leaves. “You know, what, Aude? Screw the feminists. I’m the King around here, and man sounds way better, in that phrase. End of story.”
Wake up. Breakfast (the coffee was still bad). Routine security checks. Aimless wandering around Atlantis. Getting emotional. Counterbalancing emotionality with sarcasm and denial. Lunch. Walk by Jeff’s door and say hi. Walk past Don’s room and say you psycho bastard. Read a little. Stare at the strips of the outside world from the monitors. Security checks. Tend to Audrey. Dinner. Goodnight.
Days were uneventful. To be honest, they always had been. But since Don and Jeff were gone, it felt even worse.
One day, as he verified the functionality of missiles 18 through 32, it occurred to him that he was likely the most heavily armed, one-man kingdom ruler in the whole of history. He had chuckled. It was a life of small amusements.
Of course, there were highlights. The same ones he’d always enjoyed – talking and playing chess with Ivan. Now, if the connection was good, they used VOIP most of the time. It was nice. Nice to hear a human voice other than his own.
Walscombe lay down the glass he used to water Audrey. “Good,” he said, considering the level of humidity in her little vase. “Time for chess.”
He sat in the Royal Swivel Chair, shifted the chessboard slightly, so it was perfectly parallel with the table’s edge, and started the VOIP app.
Three rings.
“Hello, Walscombe.”
Walscombe told himself the connection was disturbed. He told himself he’d also caught a cold, so his ears were a little clogged up. He went so far as to say to himself that Ivan was playing a joke on him, with some daft impersonation.
IMPACT_A Post-Apocalyptic Tale_The Complete Series Page 27