by Jo Zebedee
John faced forwards, away from the aliens. He wanted his parents here. Their absence was so strong it curled in him like a snake.
A humming noise started and a screen descended from the ceiling. A metallic voice came from speakers either side of the screen and announced the arrival of Justice Mackenzie. The screen came to life in a blizzard of white. John’s muscles bunched and tensed. They’d already made their mind up, the GC, halfway across the galaxy on the Barath’na homeworld. The screen cleared and the judge appeared, a human one, thankfully. His dull eyes scanned the courtroom, and John’s stomach fell. There was going to be no miracle here today.
“The court is in session,” said the court official.
Taz stopped fidgeting; John couldn’t move.
“In the matter of John Dray and Terence Delaney,” said the judge, “a verdict has been reached.”
He paused, looking down at something, and the silence stretched. The muscles in John's shoulders tightened – get on with it – and he forced himself not to look at anything other than the screen. Peters coughed. Come on.
Finally, the judge looked up. “On multiple counts of xenocide, the defendants have been found guilty.”
John’s eyes closed. He’d known what would happen, of course he had, but still... he’d hoped. He wanted to put his head between his knees and not have to face it, but he opened his eyes and stared at the judge. Let no one say he’d been a coward.
“I sentence you to life imprisonment. You will be transferred to a GC-registered facility forthwith.”
It was real. Lights flashed from the news people. Someone’s hand was on John’s back and he managed to straighten enough to see it was Taz. He took John’s elbow, gripping it tight, so that when John clambered to his feet, heart pounding, it was with Taz’s support. This wasn’t fair, he wanted to say. They hadn’t known what they were doing. He saw Carter, and his anger focused on the cop.
“You told me you’d help, the first time we met!” said John. He didn’t care that the cameras were on him, or that his words weren’t directed at the judge, where they should be. He needed to hurt someone real, not a screen.
Carter flinched and loosened his collar. “John...”
John wrenched his arm from Taz and stepped forward. “You said you’d find Josey – that you were getting close. You’re a useless bast–”
“Calm down.” Peters came down the steps. “I don’t want them to take you out of here yelling the place down. Think of how that’ll look on the news.”
The news. Oh, god... the kids. John stared at Peters. “Stuart and Sophie – they won’t see this, will they? Promise me they won’t.”
“They won’t.” Peters glanced at Carter, who gave a nod. “The people with them know what’s happening today. They won’t see any of this.”
Taz left the row of seats and John followed. They didn’t go back to the entrance hall, but down a narrow set of stairs at the side of the courtroom. He paused half-way down, wanting to go back and tell the judge he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to do any of this. Peters ushered him forward and the moment passed.
Besides, what did sorry matter? It wasn’t going to make prison any easier. Something in John left him – the hope he’d carried through the invasion, his parents dying, this shitty mess – and it felt like he was shedding a skin to one beneath that couldn’t be hurt. He put his head up. Nothing was real. He wasn’t, the room wasn’t, the cold cuffs being snapped on him definitely weren’t.
He tried to pull his hands away, but a soldier held him firmly by the arms and led him out the back and into a transport, piloted by a huge Barath’na. Its back was turned from John, but he could see how its claws skittered across a control panel with precision. John stared at the claws, and how they tapered into thin nails, almost as thin as the blade Peters had taken off him.
A thunk on the seat next to him made him glance down to see Jimmy’s lights flash in recognition, and he was surprised at how relieved he was to see the bot. Carter had taken it from him, a couple of days ago, putting in place some new ed-programmes, but he’d confirmed the bot would be coming into the prison with him.
The transporter started with barely a sound, and pulled away from the courthouse into the new traffic lane designed for the alien vehicles. The normal lanes, carrying human cars, turned into a blur as it gathered speed, leaving Belfast behind them. Within minutes they were into the countryside, and the life that John had led in the city was lost.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The car door opened, and Josey strained to see anything, but the blindfold was too tight. It wasn’t good that she was being moved, she knew it in her bones.
A hand tapped her shoulder, just a little too hard, telling her who it was. She shifted along the seat until she got to the end, ducking her head as she climbed out, and listened while she waited. All was quiet. Even that told her some things: there were no cows or sheep, so this wasn’t a farm; any birds had gone silent, so weren’t used to the comings and goings of people. Either that, or it was night-time. A breeze touched her arms, and its coldness convinced her it was probably the latter.
Someone – Demos probably, it felt like his pudgy fingers – took one arm. “You’re sure there’ll be no appeal? We can’t take this back if we need the women again.”
A cold chill took Josey. This was it. She tried to keep her legs from shaking, but it was no use. She hated what had happened since Belfast; she’d cried herself to sleep every night, but she didn’t want to die. Not like this, in the middle of nowhere with Gary McDowell and his thugs. She wanted to come up with words that might make them change their minds, but could think of nothing except to beg, and that hadn’t helped the day Gary had taken her.
“There’ll be no appeal. Da had plans for our two lads, plans that would keep them quiet forever. We don’t need anything on them now.” Gary took Josey’s other arm, tightening his grip until she yelped. “Shut it or I’ll kick your arse.” She bit her lip and nodded. “Good girl. Right, three steps forward and then up two.” He gave a short laugh. “Jaysus, you’re shaking.”
He held her as she walked forward, careful with her feet. She reached the top of the steps, and went into some sort of building – she could tell when the icy wind left her skin – and was guided forwards, steps echoing, until Gary’s hand tightened again, stopping her.
He took off her blindfold. She was in a stable. Its ceiling was half-missing, letting her see it was dark outside. Apart from a few hay bales and a pail of water at her feet, emptiness stretched as far as she could see. It didn’t smell of animals, just damp sawdust and mould. The only light came from a torch in Demos’ hand, which he set on the floor, changing its setting so it lit up like a lantern, giving a small pool of light. There was nowhere to run to, and no one to help her. Her breath came in short gasps driven by fear, and the cold made her need the toilet. What if she wet herself, when they did it to her? Her eyes stung with tears.
Ray pushed Liz alongside and tugged off her blindfold. Liz looked around. “You can’t leave us here.” Her normally posh English voice sounded strangled and she had to break off to cough. She smothered it, and went on, “It’s too cold for the child; she’ll get ill.”
She didn’t know yet, and Josey didn’t have the words to tell her. Gary’s ever-present smile was on his face, harder than ever. She wished she could wipe it away forever. He stood in front of her, looking at her, as if working something out. Josey’s shivers became shudders and she tried to tell herself it was the cold. Liz moved closer and put her arms around Josey; her wrists were red from the recently removed rope.
“Right, we need to get on with this,” said Gary.
Demos clapped him on the shoulder and Gary laughed, the flat laugh Josey had come to hate. One day she was going to kill him, even if she had to come back from the grave to do it. Something must have shown in her face, because he reached out and grabbed her chin, squeezing so hard her jaw clenched against sharp pain.
“Take that look
off your face,” he said.
She struggled to nod and he let go. He left the stable, Demos following, but Ray took up position just at the edge of the light, his flicking eyes radiating pent-up energy, his gun cradled as if it was treasure. He nodded at one of the bales and Josey was glad to sit; she didn’t trust herself to stay standing. She shivered against the cold air and decided she hated Ray just as much as McDowell.
Liz looked ahead, her thin face composed, but Josey could see the shine of tears in her eyes and the tight line of her jaw. She had worked it out, then. They huddled together for warmth. Outside, a car door opened, and there was the sound of an engine. Josey strained her ears; it was driven to the other side of the stable, away from where they’d arrived, presumably out of sight of the road.
The door to the outside opened. An icy blast of wind made her teeth chatter. She tried to rub some heat into her arms, but it made no difference. Footsteps came closer. She strained against the darkness to see who it was, tense like the street cats back in Belfast. Demos stepped into the light and pulled Liz to her feet. “You first.”
“No!” Josey lunged for Liz. Demos batted her away and yanked Liz against him. He turned, pushing the older woman towards the door. Josey tried to go after them, but Ray pushed her back onto the bale, so hard she nearly toppled off the back.
“Please!” she said. “She hasn’t done anything.”
“Shut up or I’ll make you.” He raised his hand as if to hit her, and she ducked her head. He nodded and backed away, still holding the gun.
How would they do it? Would it at least be quick? Tears streamed, warm against her cheeks. From outside, a low voice said something. Liz replied, her voice high and scared, the words indistinct. Josey put her head down, almost to her knees. He wouldn’t. Gary was a thug, not a cold-blooded murderer. He was only a few years older than John; he couldn’t have killed before. He’d back out when the act was in front of him.
The stable door slammed and she jumped. Steps echoed, crossing to her.
“Is he going to do it?”
“Aye.” Demos stopped just at the edge of the light and waited, as if listening. “He says to keep an eye on this one, make sure she doesn’t bolt.”
Oh, dear God. The night stretched. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Ray’s head cocked at an angle.
A single shot rang out. A bitten-off scream. Josey fell forward, slipping off the bale and knocking the water over. It spread across the concrete floor, dark like blood. A pair of hard hands pulled her to her feet, and she tried to say something – anything – but words wouldn’t come.
The door to the outside opened. Gary was there, the look on his face like nothing she’d seen before – excited, high as if he’d taken drugs. He crooked a finger and beckoned her. She took a step back, but Ray blocked her.
“Now,” said Gary.
Ray pushed her forwards and she stumbled. Gary’s pistol shone in the lamp-light, deep black, deadlier than his knife. She stopped in front of him, and watched, almost numb, as he reached for her and tipped her face to him.
“I like you,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “You’ve got guts, Josey Dray. I don’t want to kill you, you know that.”
“What do you want?” she husked.
“I want you to stay with me and do whatever I want.” He wound his hand into her hair. “I had someone I thought would be right for me, but she didn’t stay.”
“What happened to her?”
He pulled her tight against her and put his mouth against her ear. “I hurt her. I hurt her bad.”
She bit back a whimper. He held her firmly.
“Well,” he said, “have we a deal? I get to keep you, you get to live.”
Dumbly, she nodded her head. Live, to have another chance to run. Live to carry out her promise and kill him.
“Good girl,” he said. He let her go. “Ray, Demos, take the second car and head back to the safe house. Make contact with the employers and tell them the job’s done.” He jerked his head at Josey. “I’ll do her on my own, and see you back there.”
Ray nodded but Demos looked at Gary, his eyes sharp. “Wouldn’t we be better staying together? You’ll have the bodies to dump.”
“Don’t argue with me!” Gary’s face twisted. “Do you think I can’t do a wee girl on my own?”
“Right, right,” said Ray. He half-shoved Demos through the door. It banged after them, leaving her alone with Gary. Cowards. She kept her head down, not meeting his eyes, but he took her arm and gave it a savage twist.
“You look at me when we’re together,” he said. “I’m in charge. You need to be alert to whatever I might want. Understand?” He twisted again.
“Yes!” The word was wrenched from her. She looked at him through blurred tears. “I’ll watch you. Sorry.”
“Good girl. Come on.” He led Josey outside, and she cast her eyes around, trying to tell where she was, but it was too dark. She sniffed the air, and it smelt high and piney, like a Christmas tree. She wasn’t going to have another Christmas – sooner or later, he’d get sick of this new game, and she’d end up dead anyway. A sob threatened and she choked it back.
They emerged from the shadow of the stable into pale moonlight. She glanced at Gary’s gun, held tight in his hand. This wasn’t like in Carrick, when they’d needed her alive; no matter how fast she ran, she wouldn’t get away. She tripped on a stone and he grabbed her collar, yanking her back. Her eyes widened at the sight of a car just ahead. In its open boot lay Liz, her eyes open, not blinking.
“Get into the car,” he said.
She tried to pull away. She needed to get to Liz, to close her eyes, to say a prayer. She didn’t know the proper Catholic ones but surely any prayer would do – Liz had never cared about that sort of thing.
“In the car.” He gave her a sharp cuff on the back of her head. “Do what I tell you.”
He wasn’t going to keep her alive. He was going to play with her, hurt her – worse, he’d do worse – and then he’d get rid of her. She knew too much about him, overheard on long nights in the cottage. A small trickle of wet dripped down the inside of her thigh.
“Please,” she said, hating how her voice was shaking. “Can’t you let me go? I won’t say anything, I swear.”
“Last chance.” He raised his pistol. “Get in the car or you’ll join her.”
She put her hand on the passenger door. More wetness trickled, warm against her thigh. Maybe she’d be better off dead; it’d be clean and quick. Her eyes cast around, wondering if she could run, but the empty farm buildings were too far –
“Poacher?” The voice came from behind her, and a disk of light appeared, bobbing along the path and over into the tree line.
“Must be. It was definitely a shot,” said a second voice. Both were male with a country twang, almost a brogue.
Run, move away! It didn’t sound like a thought, more an order in a Belfast voice, like her da’s. Josey backed away. Gary moved forward, quicker than she’d ever imagined he could.
“The car. Move,” he said.
Move. The word cut through her shock, and Josey did what Da had told her to – he had, she was sure of it – and ducked out of Gary’s reach. She ran across the yard into the shadows. He cursed. The beam of light rounded the far end of the barn. Gary slammed the boot of the car. The light bobbed in the direction of the sound.
“There he is!” yelled one of the voices. Gary pulled open the driver’s door. “It is a poacher, Da!”
Footsteps ran across the yard as Gary started the car and swept it round in a circle. Josey ducked further into the shadows. She was shaking so hard, she worried the movement would give her away. The men ran past, chasing the car as it skidded out of the yard.
“Get round the front, Sean, see if we can catch the bastard!”
Their torchlight swung around the side of the building, casting Josey into dense darkness. She was shaking, and she put a knuckle in her mouth, trying to steady herself, but that didn’
t help. She slumped against the wall as her legs gave way. She looked up at the stars in the clear sky; she might have wet herself, she might be terrified, but someone, somewhere, had just given her half a chance. She squeezed her eyes shut, and whispered, “Thank you, God, for taking care of me.” She thought for a moment. “Though could you maybe, just maybe, tell me where I should go? Because it’s awful dark here, and I don’t even know where here is. Please, God. Amen.”
She pushed herself to her feet and looked around the farmyard. No answer. Well, no matter what, she couldn’t stay here. Gary would be back, she was sure of that. He’d be back, and he’d be looking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
John stamped his feet on the dock. The wind was keen, direct from the arctic, and the rain had turned to stinging darts against his cheeks. Beside him, Taz hunched into his coat, Carter holding his arm as if to stop him bolting. The cop stared resolutely ahead, his face impossible to read.
A wash of water hit the pier, splashing John’s boots. He moved back, glaring at the grey waves. He’d always been told the sea was blue; evidently his art teacher hadn’t been to Ballycastle in winter. Here, the North Atlantic was like a moving stone.
A shout came from the boat moored in the harbour, and Carter gave an acknowledging salute. “Okay, lads, let’s go.”
John glared at him. If Carter called him a lad once more, he’d swing for him. He followed the officer up the ramp onto a police boat. Four soldiers flanked them, and Jimmy and Sammy brought up the rear, hovering instead of walking, either because he and Taz found it so obviously cooler – Fisher-Price legs vs jet propulsion, back of the net, jets – or it suited the terrain better. They looked enough like mini UFO’s that there might be some kind of cool having them in the prison after all.
John paused at the door to the small cabin. The quayside was the last place he’d see before Inish Carraig. Northern Ireland hadn't been much of a place to grow up, what with the politicians going on about crap that didn’t matter a damn, and the arguments about stupid flags flaring into riots, but it was his place.