by Alessio Cala
They saw more of the black site now. Rows and rows of tents pitched up to one side. The wind rattled against their material that waved in the breeze. The base of the tents were filthy from where the rain had chucked mud and dirt up at them from the night before. There must have been at least a hundred of them. On the other side was the watchtower and beyond that they spotted a set of stairs that they would have never seen had nobody emerged from its obscure positioning. The steps descended underground. Frank saw raiders rise from the terrain and behind them followed a handful of men and women in rags, bounded by thick rusty chains that struck him with the god-awful memories of Wolvendale.
"That must be where the slaves are kept," Kara whispered.
Frank nodded and awaited Mike's orders. They listened to the banging and pounding of riled up footsteps through the floorboards above. A sudden weight thumped into the mud to their right. Altogether their heads swung to face it. It was the raider. He had toppled over the railing and was lying back in the mud, staring up into the sky. They froze steady beneath the shack, watching him from only a few metres away. His head tilted above and he let out a slur of intoxicated groans. Suddenly another wet thump sloshed into the mud beside him, a set of boots. A hand snatched the raider's shirt and lifted him by his chest with incredible strength. The strength was attached to a man with a deep and grizzled voice, the kind with a no nonsense attitude about him.
"Get up you fool. Do you want him to take your life too?"
Frank closed his eyes and tried his best not to think about who exactly the man might be talking about. He heard them clamber the steps into the canteen and the door slammed shut behind them.
The trio crawled out from beneath the shack and made a break for the tents. The cover would conceal them from the eyes on the watchtower. They stayed low, scurrying from one tent to the next, weaving in and out of the many rows ahead. He could hear the disgruntled snores on the other side of the tents' polyester coating; most likely raiders clocking off from their duties. A burning aroma of piss and rum lingered in the narrow alleys of this filth-ridden district. One of the tent flaps flipped open and a man exited with a chicken wing stuffed into his mouth and his hands fully occupied with the buckling of his belt. He looked up and stared death in the face as Kara's blade plunged up through his neck. He tried to scream but his cries were muffled through mouthfuls of chicken that were soon marinated by his own blood. She ripped the blade from his jugular and silently guided his body down to the ground.
Frank peeled back the flap and peered through the tent from which he came. He spotted a female slave, half clothed and sitting upon a roll of bedding. She stared back and released a faint gasp and proceeded to cover her breasts with the torn rags that wrapped her naked body. Frank shot his finger up to his lips and stared back at her. She nodded quickly, her chest full of air that she struggled to let go. He closed the tent and caught up with Mike and Kara who waited by the last row of tents backing onto the runway. Mike peered out and spotted a jeep with an open roof but his view was immediately obstructed. Something hit his face at great speed. Mike was knocked back into the dirt and when he looked up, a gigantic behemoth of a man stood before him. Kara raised her shotgun but it was too late.
They were surrounded.
More raiders emerged from all sides, their rifles drawn, aiming from every direction. Mike shot up and the three of them stood back to back. The raiders closed in on their prey. Frank clenched the revolver in his hand but he had fewer bullets than there were raiders.
"Drop your weapons," a voice commanded from behind the behemoth. From there a smaller man revealed himself, average height but smaller in comparison. The trio held onto their weapons, heads jolting back and forth with more targets than they could handle. Frank caught sight of the man and it was enough to make him stare. A burnt man. One possessed with a face tormented by scars. The brutish behemoth stepped aside to reveal a cowering plump man on his knees.
Barry knelt before them, his hands tied behind his back. His face doused in tears, his eyes bloodshot and dread plastered across his face. He looked defeated, as though they had taken his life and soul away from him. The group dropped their weapons and the burnt man paced back and forth. "To tell you the truth I am a little disappointed. I thought there would be more of you." Frank noticed the burnt man study him up and down and then his eyes landed on Kara.
"There's no way you're the one." He turned back to Barry. "She is way out of your league, my friend." He laughed to himself and the behemoth released a deep, unsettling chuckle. Frank stared down the barrel of the assault rifle opposite him. The raider holding it snarled like a bloodthirsty hound and spat to one side, his eyes never leaving Frank. The burnt man stepped beside Barry and pulled a claw hammer from his belt.
"What is your name?" He gestured the hammer towards Mike but Mike remained silent, eyes scanning desperately for a way out.
"Very well," the burnt man continued. "Tell me, where is zero two seven?"
"His name is Sam," Kara muttered.
"What was that?"
"They named him," said the behemoth.
"Oh. How lovely. I tell you, that's going to make it harder for you when you hand him back over."
Frank pushed past both Mike and Kara. He was the eldest of the three and for some reason that made him feel obliged to take the fall. That was partly it. The other thing was the way the man spoke of Sam. Something riled up inside of him that wasn't there before. It prodded him in a way he never knew possible. "He's not yours to take, none of these people are."
He held the ball of the hammer hard against Barry's temple. "Where is he?!" The burnt man's entire body quaked with aggression. The veins in his throat tensed up and a single strand of hair dropped down in front of his face.
A blaring gunshot deafened Frank from behind. He ducked down, both hands up over his ears. The burnt man’s shoulder jerked back and the hammer dropped to the ground. Frank spun around and saw him standing there in the alley of tents. Derek's eyes bugged wide and the .38 shook in his hand. The behemoth shoved past the trio and charged for him, covering the distance in no time. Time seemed to slow down and the air was cut by a fine flying object. It wisped past them all and thudded hard into the behemoth's chest. Frank watched the brute jerk forward. He stared at the object protruding the behemoth and it soon became vivid. An arrow dressed with the feathers of a raven.
Mike and Kara scrambled for their weapons amidst the chaos. Derek let off another shot, this time penetrating the behemoth's skull and out the back of his head. The behemoth toppled over Derek and crushed his body against the mud. Frank dropped to the ground and stared up the runway. Mike unloaded the rifle all around them. Bullets whirled and the blast of Kara's shotgun followed shortly after. Bodies dropped like flies and the tents caved in under the dead weights crashing through them. Beyond Barry's panicked face was a sight that sent Frank's heart into arrhythmia. There they stood, mounted high upon the ridge on horseback, at least two hundred of them. Another fifty had already penetrated the fence with their tools and charged in on foot.
The Grey Wolves.
Barry's shoulder slammed into the mud, his hands still tied behind him. Frank crawled forward and took hold of his friend's wrists. And then he felt them against his skin and he knew. He looked down and saw Barry's fingers, twisted and mangled in all directions. He hesitated for a moment but there was no time. They needed to go. He looked up and saw the burnt man retreating to the jeep. Only Frank saw him, the others too busy running and diving for cover. Frank felt himself rise through the anarchy. He felt possessed, driven by hatred and revenge. He pelted forward after the burnt man, after the one responsible for all that was lost.
TWENTY-TWO
The burnt man dived into the jeep. The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator. Tyres screeched and rubber burned against the tarmac. Frank lunged forward and caught the spare tyre mounted on the rear. The jeep shot off and he felt the exhaust spew hot air against his ankle. The entire vehicle shook
from left to right and back again, desperate to shake him off. The burnt man regained his balance and swung a right hook across Frank’s jaw, his hand slipped and the rest of his body spun outward across the jeep. He saw the burnt man's balled fist coming down for another.
The grey wolves howled as they rode by on their horses. Their arrows soared up over them and crashed across the tarmac. The jeep buckled and the burnt man was thrown back. His waist slammed into the spare tyre. Frank grabbed a handful of his clothes and used him to hoist himself up into the jeep. Before he could turn, a sharp elbow struck his nose. He sprawled back across the back seat, his upper body dangling outside. His head drifted only inches from the runway that raced by at seventy miles per hour. He felt the burnt man on him, fist raised, ready to strike. His eyes lit up with those same flames that tormented his soul. The flames froze and so did his body and then Frank saw the evil in his eyes transcend into fear. Frank tilted his head back and he too saw it, whizzing by upside-down through the speeding blur.
The grey wolves circled across the open runway by the masses. They rode in unison, spiralling outward around the storming jeep like a deadly tornado. Another fist pounded Frank’s jaw. His head dropped; his ear clipped the gravel and the blaze of carpet burn enflamed it. The wind rushed beneath him. Rocks and arrows hailed the jeep. He felt the burnt man's desperate clutches dig into the flesh of his injured thigh.
The jeep hauled up the runway. Frank held onto the burnt man for dear life. One of the front tyres burst and they were tossed up into the cockpit. The jeep screeched in agony. Sparks chucked up alongside them and he caught a glimpse of the harpoon protruding it. He looked up, the fence only thirty metres ahead. The driver's neck shot back against the oncoming rock. His head thudded lifelessly against the steering wheel. The endless drone struck Frank's heart as the horn erupted. The engine roared, much louder this time. Oh shit.
He lifted his head but it was too late. The jeep cut through the fence like butter. The burnt man was torn from his grasp and their bodies were tossed up inside the jeep like ragdolls over the rough terrain. The car hurtled on, revving hard towards the edge of the cliff that overlooked the last remaining stretch of forest between them and the ocean. He felt the left tyre crash against something and the entire vehicle spun on its axis. It whirled round, skidding furiously across the dirt and as it took flight toward the edge, he felt his stomach leap up inside of him.
Derek shoved the behemoth off him. He spotted Kara and Mike diving for cover through the rushing fleet of raiders. He turned onto his stomach and crawled back through the alley of tents. It was narrower now, littered with collapsed tents and trampled possessions. He snatched the material of the tent in his path and chucked it up over his head. He kept going until he reached the open plain of the base and then he remembered his original task. The radio tower. It was just beside the runway, only a hundred metres away. He lunged up to his feet and ran straight toward it.
Slaves poured out from the underground, climbing over one another to escape the crowded stairwell. They spread outward across the base, hundreds of them shoving and tripping over each other. The crowd swallowed Derek whole. He heard the rattling gunfire overheard and bodies began to drop around him. The panic kicked up a notch, desperation blinded them. The shackles around their ankles buckled and snapped tight as they moved. Derek shoved past them and their bodies absorbed the slaughter of raider gunfire. He finally broke through and took the deepest breath he had ever taken.
The outer stairwell was just there. Four flights of steps. He didn't stop. The gunfire pinged off the steps behind him, chasing his feet. He dropped instantly and his jaw slammed hard into the third flight. He felt an odd sensation, a sharp nip that pinched his stomach. He looked down to find the gushing blood. The air seemed thicker now. The bitter taste of blood swirled around his mouth. He carried on; crawling, one step at a time, the door to the tower just around the corner.
Mike and Kara dragged Barry down with them into the dirt and cut him loose. They were pinned down. The gunfire chucked up rock and dust all around them. They had run across to the outskirts of the base and into a ditch that dipped against the high fence. Mike stared across to Kara, having never seen the fear in her eyes as he had this day. He had always seen her as a fearless woman, but now he saw it, something every living creature shared in common: the fear of death.
He lifted his head above the pebbled gravel and spotted the raider standing high in the watchtower. He had abandoned the AK-47 and favoured the more intimidating RPG, a rocket propelled launcher that he lifted up over his shoulder. The raider wasn't looking at them. Mike's gaze panned across the battlefield to where the raider aimed. His throat tightened, muscles taut with anticipation. The radio tower. Derek dragged his body up the steel steps at a snail's pace, blood dripping down through the grated slits.
Mike pulled his rifle up over the mound and gripped it firmly. He aimed with precision at the raider high up in the watchtower. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger. The rifle snapped like the crack of a whip. A cloud of dust kicked up behind the raider as he folded limply over the metal railing. The rocket took flight, a sharp hissing that pierced the battlefield. Mike's eyes widened. His head snapped back to the radio tower and he saw the last of Derek's trembling hand reaching for the tower door. The tower combusted into a flash of burning light and was swallowed by a toxic mushroom cloud of black smoke.
Mike's jaw dropped but nothing came from his mouth. He heard the horrific screech of the metallic stilts. They bent and snapped from the concrete base and he watched it fall. With everything happening around it, it felt as though it crumbled in slow motion. The creaking moan of falling metal echoed across the base. The tower plummeted into the runway, crushing those who fought beneath. The growing cloud of dust spread outward, blinding those in its path, and once it had passed, the fighting continued as though nothing had happened at all. Mike looked closer, past the last remaining layer of dust that lingered amidst the butchery. A sea of people emerged from the other side, storming the front gate. They wore grey battle dress uniforms and were equipped with automatic rifles. There was a glint in his eye, a spec of hope that rekindled the fire inside of him. They were here. The LPA had arrived.
Frank held on, suspended a hundred feet above the north-eastern forest. He felt the grit between his clutching fingers. He looked down, a fatal mistake. The busted jeep was left nestled in the bed of pine trees below. His stomach churned as he saw the ground rushing up to him. He closed his eye and held his head high. The muscles in his fingers begged for respite and began to edge back over the cliff, burning under the strain. He fought back, pulling himself up to snatch at anything his hands could find but there was nothing but dirt and sand. His lungs expanded against his body. His desperate fingernails scraped across the cliff's edge. He was free for a split second in time, a moment that would last with him forever, but something stopped him. A firm grasp encircled his forearm. He looked up to see her against the pale sky, a woman in a cloak of black feathers. He felt her sharp fingernails dig into his flesh through the thickness of his jacket. She stared down with piercing eyes and pulled him up to safety.
Frank scrambled up the edge of the rock. He lay on his back, never truly appreciating level ground as much as he did then. They were concealed by the trampled bushes that separated them from the battle. Breathing heavily, he sat up and stared, remembering the woman's familiar face; her long, straight black hair that parted at the centre, her emerald green eyes that glowed against her tanned skin.
"You…” he said. “I saw you in the mountains, and Wolvendale." She looked different now. Her scraggly dry hair and tattered rags were all behind her. He had only pieced it together now. This was her, the woman he released from the shackles of the raiders.
"And I saw you," The Raven replied. Her accent was similar to that of someone who had grown on him over the gruelling expedition. "I saw you in the mountains. I saw you outside Wolvendale. I saw you sewing your crop
s on the outskirts of Merribank and I saw you when you first set foot on this land."
Frank squinted, surprised by the fluent nature of her tongue and knowledge. He gazed out across the distant ocean to clear his baffled mind. "I don't understand. How did you–"
The Raven struggled to look him in the eye. He could tell there was much she knew, much she had seen that he would never even begin to understand. He saw her contemplating her every word, fearful of revealing too much to him.
"Who are you?" Frank prodded.
"The last of The Beothuk. I guide my people through the eyes of the raven. My brothers and sisters fight to reclaim what is ours." The wild crack of gunfire distracted them in their hidden shelter but Frank ignored it. "Wolves guided by a raven," he uttered to himself. His mind was swarmed, struggling to digest the overload of information.
"Sam..."
She stared back, confused by a name she did not recognise. "We cannot stay here. If my people find you, they will kill you."
"Then why did you help me?"
"Because I know you are not like them. You helped me in my time of need. My people have not seen what I have seen and even when I tell them they do not believe me.”
“That’s why you left me out there in the mountains, because of your people?”
“Yes. I wish I could have done more, but I had to go, I am sworn to stay with them. Our people have hidden in the mountains for many years. We have studied your kind from afar. I met one of you and he taught me to speak your language, but my people did not approve. And then he was taken by them, the monsters within. He and my–" She stopped. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "At first my people did nothing but not long after, more of us were taken, and for the first time in several years, we fight back."
The Raven lifted Frank up to his feet and looked him in the eye. Her hand trembled as it touched his forearm. "The boy, you have been keeping him safe."