Sentinel: A post-apocalyptic thriller (The Hurst Chronicles Book 2)

by Robin Crumby

  The soldiers directly in their path appealed for calm, surprised by the sheer numbers of people funnelling through the narrow entrance. They retreated towards the barricades. An officer stepped out gesturing for the refugees to slow down as they ran.

  “Women and children only,” shouted the officer. His voice was lost amongst the shouts and excitement of those who advanced without pause.

  More and more people swarmed into the gap, heading over the drawbridge into the castle. Terra saw the officer shake his head in despair, struggling to be heard. He unholstered his side arm and fired two shots into the night sky.

  Those at the front paused momentarily, suddenly unsure, before resuming their advance.

  The officer fired again over their heads. Then he lowered his arm, pointing directly at the man closest to him. Before he could fire, he was barged aside and enveloped by the crowd.

  Oblivious to the threat, the refugees ran on, ignoring the barrels of various weapons poking over the sandbags and up-turned tables. The soldiers were waiting for the order to open fire, glancing wide-eyed at each other, unsure what to do. They hesitated a moment too long and they too were overtaken by a tide of humanity.

  Terra headed left, Victor at her side. The soldiers were distracted, no one was watching them, their faces hidden, darting into the shadows. Behind her a flurry of shots rang out in the confused melee. She glanced over her shoulder, her breaths short as adrenaline coursed through her veins. It wasn’t clear who was firing, but the soldiers above them on the wall were pointing at something, a shape in the crowd. Another volley of shots rang out as two of the soldiers fell from their elevated position, tumbling into the crowd, then were trampled underfoot.

  The soldiers nearest the gate hugged the wall, pushing and shoving to force their way forward. The officer was shouting for the soldiers to form a human barrier, to stem the flow of refugees surging forward. She could hear someone trying to crank shut the drawbridge again, but knew it would be a wasted effort. They kept coming, dozens more would be returning from the spit, cramming towards the entrance, surging inside.

  Terra ran on towards the Tudor gate just as the two soldiers guarding the inner castle slammed the heavy doors shut, wrestling with the keys to lock the door. Briggs and Copper threw their weight against the doorway and one side cracked open an inch but closed again immediately as more bodies jammed against it from within. The key turned and then it was done.

  She could hear raised voices from within and the sound of the wooden brace heaved into place to secure the double doors. Despite their renewed efforts to force their way in, the path was blocked. They stepped back and looked up at the wall above. It was too high to climb. This was a medieval fortress built to repel invaders. However, Terra knew well that it was no longer impregnable, not by any stretch of the imagination. With the Victorian modifications and extensions, you could access the rooftop via the seaward-facing bastions.

  Victor had other ideas and Terra was bundled out of the way as a large covered contraption on wheels was brought up behind them. They removed the tarpaulin to reveal what looked like a battering ram. A tree trunk crudely sharpened to a point had been covered with metal, hammered into shape.

  She stood aside as several of Copper’s men took up positions at each hand-hold, six of them in total. On the count of three, they threw their weight against the contraption, picking up momentum before slamming into the resolute oak. The whole frame of the door seemed to vibrate and shake, raining dust and debris down on to the paved stone flooring, but it held firm. They rolled the battering ram back a dozen yards and tried again with renewed vigour. The collision with the woodwork splintered the lower half, as the gap widened between the join in the doors, burying its metal head into the weathered oak. There was a chorus of alarm from within.

  As Briggs’ men rolled the contraption back, a volley of shots rang out from above, trying to target the men below. One of them fell as the others dived forward into the shadows, out of sight. Briggs cursed and shouted at Copper’s men to get back to their posts for another try. He urged them forward, volunteering another to take the place of the wounded man.

  This time, they shortened their run-up and avoided making themselves a target. The defenders above no longer had an angle of fire, leaning forward and firing blind.

  Copper grabbed hold, corralling them once more. The ram left its mark, bursting through and holing one side of the door so that when they heaved it back, they could see terrified faces within.

  Briggs inserted his prized silver SIG Sauer pistol into the gap and squeezed off deafening shots in all directions until his clip was empty. He stepped aside to reload while the battering ram was wheeled back for another try.

  Terra took one look and realised that the oak doors had no resistance left and could hold them no longer. She secretly hoped that Jack and the others would have had sufficient time to escape, to barricade themselves somewhere safe. There were only a few places left to hide and Terra had a good idea where those would be.

  ***

  From the roof of the Gun Tower at the centre of the castle complex, Jack listened with increasing alarm to the repeated assaults on the Tudor gate. In the main courtyard of the western wing of the castle, hundreds of people were roaming around, searching every corner and cupboard for food or anything else they could scrounge.

  The soldiers were helpless to prevent them. They had at least restored some semblance of order. Pressed against the doorway to the canteen, they were now handing out various items to the outstretched hands of a hungry crowd.

  It was only a matter of time before they would burst through their last line of defence, then what? Once they were within the Tudor fortress, the whole castle would be quickly overrun and those who remained here would be trapped.

  Jack’s mind was racing, running through the various options. Will and Tommy were by his side waiting for his instruction. Both had grabbed shotguns and rifles from the armoury which they handed out to the others. They stood ready for whatever came through those doors, checking their weapons. Jack seemed to come to his senses, listening to the shots fired from above.

  “Listen up, I think our best chance will be to get out now through the disused gate in the north-east bastion.”

  “Jack, they’ll be watching the beach like hawks. They won’t make the same mistake again,” warned Will soberly.

  “What about Terra?” said Sam.

  “There’s no way to find her now. She couldn’t have known Briggs would attack.”

  “What about Riley and the Americans? Are you still in contact with them?”

  “Not for the last hour or so. With any luck Riley and the others will have made it across to the island now. We’re all that’s left,” said Jack, shaking with adrenaline, looking round at the sullen faces of his team.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, you need to do it now. That gate won’t hold much longer,” shouted Will.

  “What happened to the prisoner?”

  “I handed him over to Flynn and his men. They’ll have him now. He’s no longer our concern.”

  “Then, you’re right,” said Will. “There’s nothing left for us here, we need to get out while we still can.”

  “Is the Nipper still tied up on the eastern jetty?”

  “She was last time I looked. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “It’s our best chance. Right, here’s what we’re going to do.”

  ***

  Outside the gate, Copper’s men readied themselves for a final charge.

  “This time boys. It won’t hold much longer. On the count of three.”

  They charged the few meters, picking up momentum and with a deafening crash, the oak rendered, splitting apart on one side, sending metalwork clanging across the courtyard. When they withdrew the battering ram, a narrow space remained, large enough for a child to fit through. Briggs reached through the gap and forced up the wooden bar securing the two doors. The locking mechanism was badly damaged and with
a final nudge from two of his men, the whole left hand door rocked to the side, held by one set of remaining hinges.

  Briggs waved Victor and the others through, glancing behind them to check they were not being followed. In the main courtyard, the soldiers were fully occupied with crowd control, too busy to see what was going on at the Tudor gate.

  Stepping inside the inner castle, Terra heard voices from above, echoing off the stone enclosure. Victor gestured for her to keep to the shadows, to avoid offering themselves up as targets. She could see faces pressed against the windows of the first floor of the Gun Tower trying to make them out in the darkness below.

  Briggs shouted to the defenders. “We’re here for Damian King. We’ve not come to fight.”

  In the distance they could hear footsteps running away from them in the darkness. With a nod of his head, two of Briggs’ men ran to investigate. Briggs seemed more concerned with negotiating with the soldiers, now their fight was lost. The remaining defenders were trapped, there was nowhere to run. Terra leaned in close to Victor and whispered.

  “Victor, they must be making for the eastern gate, the one I told you about.”

  “You told me it was disused.”

  “It was in my day, but perhaps it’s been repaired.”

  He wolf whistled to get Copper and the rest of the group’s attention. They were readying themselves at the bottom of the stairwell, preparing for a final assault. Victor pointed towards the entrance and set off towards the far gate.

  “Copper, you go,” shouted Briggs, “Don’t wait for me.”

  Copper pointed at four of his men who followed Victor and Terra towards the east gate and the darkness beyond.

  ***

  Jack and the others advanced through the wide courtyard of the eastern wing of the castle, where several military vehicles had been stationed after ferrying supplies from Lymington. The group threaded their way through, sticking to the shadows, keeping out of sight. Jack waited for the last of them to catch up before throwing caution to the wind and running the remaining meters.

  They found two of Flynn’s men still guarding the entrance. They sounded alarmed by the hurried footsteps of so many, calling out to each other and drawing their weapons at the silhouetted shapes racing towards them in the half-light.

  “Who goes there?” they shouted nervously.

  “It’s Jack. Sergeant Flynn sent us here. The castle is being overrun by refugees. They need you back at the front entrance.”

  “We can’t leave our posts without Flynn’s say so.”

  “Not this again,” said Jack rolling his eyes. “Listen, we need you to open this gate, right now, and let us out,” he said forcefully. “We’re the last civilians, there’s a boat waiting for us.”

  “Like I said, we can’t do anything without a direct order.”

  “Oh for goodness sake. What is it with you lot and following orders?” shouted Scottie. “Why can’t you think for yourself for a change and just do the right thing?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Will shaking his head, looking around the group.

  “Either you let us out,” insisted Jack, “or I won’t be held responsible for what these men do to you.”

  “Are you threatening us?” the younger man warned impotently, brandishing his weapon, stubbornly refusing to concede. He glanced at his older partner who discouraged him from doing anything rash. They were outnumbered six-to-one.

  Whilst the two soldiers were distracted, Will and Sam began flanking them and with a sudden lunge, Will grabbed the barrel of the man’s rifle and wrestled it free. The older soldier gave up his weapon without a fight.

  “There’s a good chap. Now give me the keys,” demanded Jack.

  The soldier fumbled in his pockets and removed a black metal key which he offered out in front of him. Will gestured for the soldier to unlock the door. Behind them they heard voices and footsteps advancing through the gap towards them. It was now or never.

  With a loud groan, the left-hand side of the gate swung open on its rusted hinges. Outside it was pitch black and they hurried beyond the narrow bridge that ran over a ditch, half-full of water. One by one, they jumped down into the freezing water, hugging the side of the castle to stay out of sight, heading towards the eastern dock where they hoped the Nipper was moored. Sam ran ahead to get her ready to cast off and start the engines but Jack called him back.

  “Sam, stay with us. They’ll be watching the dock, don’t get separated.”

  They could hear raised noises not fifty meters behind, close to the East gate. They pushed on, staying low and hidden from view. As they approached the jetty, Jack realised something was wrong. The Nipper was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Zed helped Riley over the side of the R.I.B and half-carried her through the surf. Her injured leg dragged awkwardly behind. They staggered up the small beach towards Cliff End Battery at the far end of Colwell Bay. At the top of the slope, Zed could just make out the row of holiday bungalows that overlooked the Solent, facing back towards Hurst Castle.

  He lowered her down as gently as he could behind a large rock covered in seaweed and fumbled in the Velcro pockets of his webbing till he found the small penlight Jones had given him earlier. Getting down onto his hands and knees, he inspected the wound in her calf. It was much worse than he was expecting.

  Riley’s lower trouser leg, sock and boot were soaked in blood. The bullet had passed clean through the flesh. Feeling round to the other side he confirmed there was an exit wound. It should heal well enough. There were no signs of bullet fragmentation or injury to any bones.

  Riley arched her back trying to see the wound for herself.

  “Don’t look, it’ll be fine,” he reassured, easing her back down against the rock. He borrowed a blanket from one of the others and made her comfortable, applying pressure to stem the bleeding.

  “We’ve got to go back for Jack and the others,” winced Riley.

  “You’re not going anywhere with that leg.”

  She groaned as Zed ripped off a strip of his t-shirt and wrapped it around her thigh, just above the knee, pulling it taut with his teeth. It was awkward with just one good arm, but through sheer grit and determination, the tourniquet held. Ignoring her pain, he applied a bandage to the ankle, as tight as he dared. He stood back, admiring his handiwork, noticing a dark red stain growing larger by the second. It was the best he could do in the circumstances. When the wave of agony had subsided, she opened her eyes and pleaded with him.

  “Please Zed. You’ve got to get Jones up here. I need to talk to him.”

  “Take it easy. You’re not the only one who got shot, you know. Two of his men are badly wounded. He’s got his hands full.”

  “Someone needs to get back over there now before it’s too late.”

  “If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be stuck on that beach. You could start by thanking him.”

  “There will be plenty of time for thank yous later. Right now, Jack needs us. Please, you’ve got to get back over there. I’d never forgive myself if something happens to them. Don’t leave them at the mercy of that butcher Briggs.”

  “Okay, Okay. I’m going. But listen, you stay put and get that properly looked at.” He leant forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She reached up and stroked his face.

  Zed called Liz over. She was handing out some biscuits to the other new arrivals, gulping water greedily from a plastic bottle.

  “Can you keep an eye on Riley for me? She’s in a lot of pain, keep her company can you?”

  He caught sight of Jones, striding up the beach, speaking animatedly into his radio. Perhaps there had been news from the Chester. He patted Liz on the shoulder and ran after Jones.

  A flash in the darkness caught his eye as he looked back across the water towards Hurst Castle, its outline just visible in the distance. With the floodlights and the pre-dawn mist, there was a strange halo about the place which made it look somehow ethereal,
like it was rising up out of the darkness. He smiled to himself. Perhaps it was divine intervention.

  He let out a deep sigh, remembering that he was on the island now. He was safe, whatever that meant. Yet here he was preparing to go back into the fray again to save Jack. Hadn’t he risked his life enough times for one night? He would be heading back into the lion’s den, yet the prospect of a reunion with Briggs and Copper made him cast aside all thoughts of personal safety. He longed for five minutes alone with one or both of them, his lip curling at the thought.

  Jones was organising what remained of his team. To make room for all remaining twelve civilians in the two boats, they would leave three of Jones’s men here to tend to the wounded. Zed patted him on the shoulder and the American looked up at him wearily.

  “How’s Riley doing?”

  “She’ll be fine. It was just a flesh wound. No broken bones. Clean exit. How about your guys?”

  “One’s pretty shot up, but the Kevlar armour saved his life. The other took a bullet to his throat, missed the artery. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Apparently there’s a doctor lives just up there, at the Battery,” said Zed, pointing towards the imposing structure up the beach. “We’ve sent a runner to find him and bring a stretcher.”

  “Listen, Zed, I need you to stay with them…”

  “I don’t want to hear it Jones. I’m coming along, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Look, I don’t want any more casualties on my watch. Things could get pretty nasty. This time, they’ll know we’re coming. We may not even be able to make a landing.”