The Stolen Days of John Mann
Part 1 of All The Days of John Mann
By Charles Barrow
Published by Martin C. Payne
Copyright 2014 Charles Barrow
Acknowledgements
With love and thanks to Jess, Jane, David, Helena and Drew for their input and encouragement.
Original cover art and design by Jess Davies.
Table of Contents
The Stolen Days of John Mann
Excerpts from The Darkening Days of John Mann
About Charles Barrow
Connect with Charles Barrow
The Stolen Days of John Mann
Chapter One
‘Dear Lord, Thank you for the food before us, the fire in the grate, and the roof above our head. Please spare those we love and keep us safe from harm. Amen.’
John Mann opened his eyes and placed his hands in his lap as David and Helen repeated the blessing. The boy turned in his seat to face Mann.
‘You changed the words Father.’ He has his mother’s bright eyes, thought Mann.
‘David.’ This was a rebuke from his mother.
‘The boy is right.’ Said Mann.
‘Why’d you change them?’ Asked David.
‘Prayer doesn’t lose its aim because I change some words.’
‘God still hears you?’
‘Always. We should never be afraid of straying from familiar paths to find new ones, even when we’re told there is only one way forward.’
David looked puzzled, ‘But Mrs Ginty says…’
‘That’s enough son, eat your supper.’ Helen levelled a firm look at Mann. ‘It’s best we don’t have talk that runs counter to David’s schooling.’
‘Forgive me, I meant no complication. It’s the hunger addled my thinking, but this food looks to fix that.’ Mann offered the olive branch and Helen accepted it with a smile.
They started to eat in silence, a simple meal of rabbit, potatoes and cabbage. He knew how hard she would have worked to get this meal to the table. She reared her own rabbits and grew her own crops. The town, of course, took a share of what she produced, for the Common Table. He’d watched her butcher two rabbits with a cleaver earlier but only one had been cooked. After dinner she would carefully complete the necessary docket to accompany the other rabbit to town tomorrow. The food is very good and he is ravenous. He wishes he could have contributed more than the firewood that both cooked the meal and crackles in the stove now. He’s worried he is too warm, he feels a flush on his cheek, and a trickle of sweat running down between his shoulder blades, its saltiness stinging his sore, abraded skin.
He glances at Helen and David. They are unaware of his discomfort, but he knows she is not unaware of his gaze. He thinks again how handsome she is, worn down by hard work and worry certainly but she is strong and resourceful. The shadows thrown by the candles soften the lines on her face and the candle glow gives warmth to her skin. He allows his gaze to travel down the curve of her neck to the shining locket at her throat, and then down further still.
David clatters his cutlery down on his plate and brings Mann’s thoughts quickly back to the table. He feels immediate shame for the thoughts he’d been having and, as penance, he lowers his cutlery too, his meal unfinished. His body is desperate for the food but she’ll be able to put his uneaten vegetables back into the pot. She immediately looks concerned.
‘You didn’t like the food?’
‘It was very good. Better than I deserve.’ Mann runs his finger around the inside of his high collar. He finds it especially tight and restricting tonight.
‘Are you unwell? You look feverish and there is sweat on your brow. May I?’ She reaches out her hand to press the back of it against his forehead. It is a mother’s gesture towards a sick child. With a loud scrape of his chair Mann moves suddenly away to avoid her touch. Mother and son are both startled by his swift reaction.
Helen is immediately embarrassed, ‘I’m sorry I…’
‘No.’ he interrupts, ‘I’m sorry. I meant no alarm.’
The boy looks from his mother to Mann and back again. She pulls her shawl more tightly around her, ‘David it’s nearly eight is the radio ready?’ The boy is still confused by what has just occurred. ‘David?’ His mother’s voice is firmer this time. The boy jumps up and retrieves the small radio from a side table and begins to wind it, she stands up and begins to gather the dirty plates together, Mann moves to help.
‘Thank you Father, I can manage.’
‘I should at least wash the dishes.’
‘You are a guest here, please settle yourself and I’ll bring you tea.’ Mann withdraws a little and puts his awkward hands in his coat pockets. She turns away from him and heaps the dishes in the sink. He hadn’t meant to push her away so harshly. Yes he had, he would always have to push people away, especially the ones he might want to hold close. He should never have stayed here for a second day. The tense silence is broken only by the delicate chink of cups and saucers as Helen sets out the china. A squall of fat raindrops suddenly rattles against the windowpane.
‘I hope the signal holds in the heavy weather.’ She says because the silence needs to be filled.
‘It will Ma, they’ve been working up Grove Point again.’
‘Well the last time they fixed that mast we lost signal for three days. I had to ask neighbours for broadcast updates, luckily we missed nothing too important.’
‘We missed three episodes of Ahab.’ Groaned David.
Helen’s laugh is melodic and immediately settles them all. She turns to Mann, ‘The tea is mint I hope that’s ok? Or I have chamomile in the dry store if you’d rather.’
‘Mint is good. Thank you.’ Mann replied. He takes the third chair by the radio as he’d done on the previous evening, just as the clock strikes eight. The boy switches on the small set and a few moments of static crackle fill the room before the last few chimes of Big Ben sound.
‘We’re fast again Ma.’
‘That’s a job for you tomorrow then.’ Helen smiled at her son as she handed him his hot tea, and he straightened up as he accepted it from her, along with the trust of righting the clock. He’ll grow up straight and tall, Mann decided. He accepted his own cup from Helen and settled back in the chair as the broadcast began and the honeyed voice, serious but warm and calm, issued from the radio, encouraging them to celebrate 130 days since the last outbreak in the sector, but warning against complacency. Mann mentally tuned out the broadcast after this, he could relax for a while. The rest of the broadcast would be full of the usual medical updates, food distribution news, and appeals for labour. Mann’s thoughts wandered.
He marvelled at how Helen kept home and body and soul together and raised the boy on her own. He’d seen many parents derail and their children go to the bad. He cast his gaze beyond the circle of flickering light they sat in. A line of clothing stretched through the room beyond the kitchen, like a string of dowdy bunting. Jumpers, scarves and socks all pegged to dry, all the same nettle green from the dye she’d extracted from the stinging plants in her garden. In the spare room upstairs, where Mann had slept last night, he’d seen the bottled fruit and jams she’d put down too. She’d done well to keep her home and land on the fringe of town, despite the housing surplus. The authorities must know she made good use of her resources as they benefited too.
She clicked her tongue against her teeth and drew his attention, ‘They’ll wring us sorely with the winter rationing,’ she said, ‘They risk the people resenting such terms.’ He made to reply when she suddenly turned her head towards the back door, listening to something above the sound of the radio.
Mann put his cup down, ‘What is it?’
She turned to him, worry scudding across her face like a dark cloud. Her eyes flicked to David and back. ‘David will you fetch my work basket from the bedroom.’
‘Oh Ma, Ahab’s about to start.’
‘Quicker gone, sooner back.’ Her voice brooked no argument. David took a small candle and disappeared from the room. Mann repeated his question.
‘Someone, outside, attempting a quiet approach.’ She replied. Mann looked at her quizzically. ‘There’s been trouble in town before. I scatter gravel on all the paths.’ She rose and crossed to the sink, reached to peer through the curtains.
Mann raised his hand, ‘Don’t.’ He turned the radio down. He whispered, ‘Who gave trouble?’
‘Gangs’. She appeared to fold in on herself. ‘I hear such stories. I fear they may come for David.’ Her words were barely audible but they chilled Mann’s heart.
David called from the top of the stairs ‘Can’t find it Ma.’
‘Keep looking son.’ Mann called back. They heard David’s footsteps recede. Mann reached for Helen’s hand, ‘The boy will be safe, I promise.’
Helen looked uncertain, ‘How?’
‘With God’s grace.’ Mann said.
The sound of splintering wood suddenly tore at their ears as the kitchen door parted from its hinges, falling inwards with a rush of air that extinguished most of the candles set about the room. Mann was immediately alert as three armed men entered through the shattered frame. He took in their guns at a glance. Two he recognized as old war pistols and the third was of a curious design that he couldn’t place. One thing was sure, if they held ammunition this wasn’t a hick operation, and yet it didn’t quite tell of military either.
The furthest intruder was thick set and lumbering, and the middle one was small, very alert, a bald man with a hooked nose. Of the three men the nearest moved most like a trained man, he had a white blonde beard, was lean and muscled and carried at least three knives sheathed at his belt as well as the curious gun. He is the danger here for sure, thought Mann. He backed Helen into a corner behind him, she held fast to his arm, he hoped David had the sense to take a quick route from the house. The bald one spoke. ‘I want your names.’ Mann detected a slight accent, second gen European probably.
‘This is Helen and I’m Father Adam Moore. We are alone here.’
‘Father Adam Moore. Ok then, lying Adam Moore, there is a third, a boy.’
‘You’ll not take him.’ Shouted Helen and made to push forward but Mann restrained her.
‘You’ll keep a civil tongue for your own good.’ The bearded one warned.
‘Don’t threaten us Mister.’
For an odd moment Mann thought he’d spoken his own thoughts aloud but then realised to his horror that the voice was David’s, the boy had materialised from the shadows in the corner of the kitchen, shouldering a shotgun that dwarfed him. Mann took a step forward to put himself between the men and the boy, but too late. The sharp crack of a pistol reverberated around the room and David fell. Helen screamed and pushed past Mann and ran to where David lay. Mann registered that it was the small one who had fired the shot, before rushing himself to kneel beside Helen. He saw the blood seeping from a wound in the boy’s shoulder and felt beneath him. His hand came up wet with more blood, the bullet had passed clean through. Helen was frantic in her attempts to staunch the flow of David’s blood using her apron to blot his wound. Her desperate eyes locked with Mann’s. He noted the fallen shotgun nearby, he doubted it was loaded but hoped she wouldn’t attempt anything. He’d deal with this and he didn’t want her at risk.
‘Leave the boy.’ Shouted the small gunman, ‘Back to your feet.’
‘He needs a Doctor.’ Screamed Helen.
‘I can put him beyond all help.’
Helen made to argue but Mann hushed her as he climbed to his feet and pulled her after him. She was quaking and he knew it wasn’t just fear, there was much anger in her too. He didn’t know how this would play out now, but whatever came next he’d have to be ready to respond.
The dart thudded into his chest before he even heard the clack of it leaving the gun. The shock of seeing it stunned him for a moment. The curious gun that the bearded one still had levelled at him had held a stun dart. He should have reasoned that. His blood ran cold at the thought of blacking out. Helen’s frantic concern brought his focus back. The small gunman was moving towards them with a length of rope.
Mann’s hackles rose. This surely wasn’t about the boy anymore, it weighed all wrong, but he couldn’t afford to be bound and helpless, however the pieces fell. He clutched at Helen as if he suddenly needed support. ‘Push me away like you fear me.’ He hissed in her ear, ‘Then cover your face.’ She played her part well. As if panicked, Helen pushed hard at his chest, propelling him backwards, even as she fell on top on David.
My advantage, Mann thought, as he span around to collide with the advancing intruder, is that they never expect a preacher to attack. He parried the man’s gun hand and slipped easily around behind him, encircling his waist with one arm and cinching it tight, forcing all the air out of his captive’s lungs. Mann then spat into the palm of his free hand and clamped it over the gunman’s nose and mouth.
Pandemonium broke out as the other two men began shouting and waving their weapons. Their threats and curses filled the air but Mann tuned them out and focused on the man in his grip. He began to mouth a silent prayer as he felt the gunman gulp in a deep and ragged breath and start to struggle out of his hold. Time slowed to a crawl for Mann as he held his hand clamped in position for five, six, seven more seconds before the gunman broke free. Time enough, thought Mann. The gunman steadied himself against the table, his chest heaving, his face flushed. He shouted something Mann didn’t catch and made to lift his pistol but then confusion suddenly flashed in his eyes and he dropped his weapon and clutched at his throat with both hands. He choked once and his body began to heave as he fought for a lungful of air.
Mann had seen this many times, didn’t need to watch another man die by his hand. He turned his attention to the other intruders. The bearded one was the next obvious target, even though the larger one still held a gun. Mann saw panic and fear play across their faces. They couldn’t tear their eyes away from their accomplice who was on his knees now, gasping and choking, arms flailing.
The man with the beard suddenly felt the heat of Mann’s stare and returned it fearfully. Mann wrenched the dart free from the thick webbing of his undershirt, dropped it to the floor and crushed it underfoot. The man drew one of his knives and screamed at him in a language he couldn’t peg. Mann shrugged and spat into his palm again and advanced on his adversary who looked horrified and circled away to his left.
Suddenly a new sound claimed Mann’s focus and he turned his head to see Helen on her feet by the downed gunman. She was invoking her son’s name and she was alight with rage. She had the cleaver in her hand and Mann watched in horror as she raised it above her head to strike.
Don’t. He thought. He will be dead inside the minute. His death is my cross to carry, not yours.
Another crack of gunfire shattered his thoughts even as the bullet took Helen between the eyes. Dark blood laced across the wall behind her and she dropped to the floor, like a puppet with cut strings. Mann howled until his breath was gone, but the howl echoed on in his head.
He turned murderous eyes on the big gunman who had now trained his still smoking pistol on Mann. As Mann took a step towards him he began to retreat, shouting out to the bearded one for help. Mann understood nothing but a name, Gunnar.
‘Another step and you’ll follow that woman to hell.’ The bearded one, Gunnar, stepped into Mann’s field of vision and Mann was appalled to see the limp body of David slung over his shoulder as he edged towards his large accomplice and the doorway. Gunnar shouted ‘Barge, take the boy.’ And the big man easily relieved him of David in return for his gun, which Gunnar levelled at Mann. They both now held their free hands cupped over their
faces.
‘Leave the boy.’ growled Mann.
‘He is insurance against you following.’
‘Oh I’ll follow,’ hissed Mann, ‘and I pray you are there when I find him.’
Unnerved and unsure, the two intruders backed slowly towards the shattered doorframe. Mann suddenly jack-knifed his body and sent a gob of spit sailing towards them. The distance was too great and it fell short landing on Barge’s thigh. Mann heard him yelp as Gunnar dragged him backwards through the opening and out into the night.
Mann stood trembling as he surveyed the carnage in the room. The dead gunman, the pool of David’s blood and Helen’s ruined body. On the radio Captain Ahab had sighted the white whale.
Chapter Two
Last night’s rain dripped from the leaves as Mann made his way through the trees. The sun warmed the air, turning the moisture to vapour. Water welled up around his boots as he padded over the sodden grass, the summer rains had been more fierce than usual this year, the rivers still ran high and madly, and many fields lay under standing water.
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