Maybe Flynn’s fear of the Queen kept him quiet—after all, he’d seen her order multiple deaths. Maybe he wanted to make sure he got to Rose and rescued her; he owed her because of her sacrifice. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t justify it. He knew what was about to happen and he wasn’t about to do anything to stop it.
When the gap between them closed to no more than ten metres, the man stood straighter and pulled his shoulders back. “That’s quite close enough,” he said.
But the Queen pushed them forward several more steps as if trying to provoke him.
“I said that’s quite close enough,” the man repeated, his voice deepening as he brandished his pitchfork.
“I’m sorry,” the Queen said. Flynn didn’t recognise her weak and vulnerable voice. Meek like a nervous child, she continued, “I’ve injured my leg. We need somewhere to rest up for a day or two before we carry on.”
The man shook his head. “We don’t take people in. We don’t know who you are, and we have our families inside. We can’t risk it.”
A shake ran through Flynn and he did his best to control it.
“What about you, dear?” the Queen said to the woman. “This man makes all the decisions, does he?”
A slight flinch at her words, but the woman didn’t bite. A tight jaw and she nodded. “It’s like he said.”
“Fair enough.” The strength had already returned to the Queen’s voice, even if she hadn’t shown it with her body language yet. She then looked up at the sky and set a tongue-rolling battle cry free, the sharp call of it ringing out over the meadow surrounding the community.
In the time it took for the man and woman to look at one another, the twenty or so horses they’d brought with them galloped over the brow of the hill. Several arrows flew past Flynn and the Queen, so close Flynn felt the air shift next to his face. Every one embedded in the chests of the two guards.
It robbed the man and woman of their voices before they’d had a chance to use them. Both of them opened their mouths to release nothing but a gurgled sound.
The Queen let go of Flynn and straightened herself as the guards both fell over dead. A shake of her head as she stared down at them and laughed. “I suppose it wouldn’t be any fun if they’d obliged us.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
The second they stepped through the weak front gates, Flynn’s eyes ran up the track leading away from him. The main thoroughfare, it had a couple of small buildings on either side of it near to them.
Farther away from them, Flynn saw a barn similar to that used by the Queen in the royal complex. As the main building in the place, they probably used it as a communal area too.
The people Flynn had seen working from the brow of the hill had vanished. Maybe they’d set up an ambush. Although, it seemed more than likely they were hiding. He looked at the barn again. They probably weren’t hiding very well.
Crops grew on either side of the track between the two small huts and the barn. Other than that, Flynn couldn’t see much else. Did they sleep in the barn too? Maybe the barn hid other structures behind it.
The Queen pointed at a flatbed trailer much like the ones they’d put spikes on for the games. At least three metres long, it looked to have been well maintained, the wooden wheels smooth and round, the flatbed repaired with different pieces of wood from where it had clearly broken over the years. “Grab that,” she said to Flynn.
Almost every urge inside of Flynn screamed no at the woman. These people didn’t deserve it. They seemed peaceful, like they just wanted to get on. Yet under her steely and psychotic glare, he did exactly as she ordered and walked over to the trailer, his shoulders slumped, his legs heavy.
When he brought the trailer back to the Queen—the squeaking of the wheels making the only sound as everyone watched him—she looked him up and down, lingering on his crotch. “Is there a problem?”
Jason’s screams rang through Flynn’s mind and he glanced over at Mistress’ scimitar. He shook his head to look at the grinning weapon. “No, no problem at all.”
“Right, follow me.”
Mistress sat on the lead horse, her hunters and the Queen’s royal blue guards behind her. They all waited for the Queen.
The Queen moved off and Flynn followed her, the wheels of the trailer squeaking again as he pulled it along with him. The entire party moved forwards at his pace, the horses stepping and then stopping, stepping and stopping.
The first two wooden huts looked like somewhere people would stay, but it seemed odd they were so far from the rest of the community. Unless they were guards’ huts.
In response to several hand signals from the Queen, four of Mistress’ hunters slipped from the back of their horses. The pillions on each horse, they left the riders behind as they moved forwards with their swords and bats at the ready.
The Queen directed two hunters to one hut and two to the other.
Flynn wanted no part of it. If he could have run, he would, but if he made a break for it, he probably wouldn’t even make it to the gates before an arrow sank into his back. Besides, he couldn’t outrun a horse even if he did get free.
Screams responded to the hunters entering the huts. Screams of what sounded like older larynxes—a younger, fitter person would have made more noise. It took until that moment for Flynn to notice the red crosses painted on the side of each hut. Clearly the community’s hospital.
The hunters emerged seconds later. Two of them had a woman that looked to be in her eighties, and the other two, a man of a similar age. The couple looked tired and pale.
Maybe they were there before, but when Flynn looked up the track, he saw a gathering of people in the barn’s doorway. They were crammed in the large space and all of them stared out.
A man with a beard and homemade sandals elbowed his way through the crowd to the front. “Please,” he called out at the Queen. “Please let them be. They’re both dying. We’re keeping them in the hospital huts so we can give them palliative care. You can take our food, we can grow more, but please don’t harm us.”
The four hunters looked from the man to the Queen, who stared at the old people with a sneer on her face. The air wound so thick, Flynn damn near choked on it.
In a cold monotone, the Queen said, “Kill ’em.”
Before the old people could scream, the hunters cut the sounds from their throats. One slice each and both fell at the same time, their weak frames making little noise as they folded to the ground, blood emptying from their deep wounds.
The community in the doorway cried and shouted. Chaos rushed out of the barn as everyone vocalised their grief at the same time.
When the bearded man stepped forward, everyone else quietened down. He threw his arms wide, his face red as he addressed the Queen. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Flynn looked at the Queen as she first glared at the man and then looked down at the dead bodies. “Right, you four.” She pointed at the dismounted hunters as if the man from the community didn’t exist. “I want you to follow behind and take everything that’s useful. Flynn’s going to pull the trailer while you load it up. And when you’ve been into each building, if you can find a torch, use it to burn them to the ground.”
The hunters nodded and vanished into the hospital huts.
“Oi!” the man called again and stepped closer to the group. “I asked you a question, you crazy bitch.”
Although Flynn looked at the Queen, he couldn’t see any sign she’d even heard the man. Instead, she turned her back on him and spoke to the hunters and guards still on their horses. “The rest of you,” she said, calmer than she’d ever sounded, “take ’em out.”
The thunder of horse hoofs rattled past Flynn, trampling the dead people and sending an earthquake through the ground. The rush of their charge created a strong breeze in their wake.
Flynn watched the bearded man’s anger turn to slack fear, his face falling south. A second later, one of the hunters on the back of the lead horse drove a hard blow with
a baseball bat into the side of his head.
Chapter Fifty-Five
However long had passed, Flynn had lost track of time as everything turned into a blur. He walked back through the community, sweating and his muscles straining from dragging the now heavy trailer. He looked at the Queen. A sick pleasure lit her up.
The screams had died down as the people fell. The sound of the trailer’s wheels creaked as Flynn tugged it. The air reeked of smoke and seared flesh. Much of the earth had turned damp with spilled blood.
“This is what we do,” the Queen said as she looked at their stacked trailer. “Quite a good haul and a wonderful body count.”
Not that Flynn had seen her kill anyone. He said nothing.
“Survival of the fittest,” the Queen added, taking in the burning ruins around them.
Flynn had satisfied his curiosity as they delved deeper into the community. Many of the huts the community slept in were positioned behind the large barn, as he’d thought they might be. All of them were alight.
When they passed a dead child no older than five or six, a titter escaped the Queen. The boy’s mouth hung wide open and his glassy eyes stared up at the sky. She clicked her fingers at a hunter and pointed at the boy. The hunter ran over, picked the boy up by his ankles, and launched him into a nearby fire.
A thick cloud of smoke wafted across Flynn and the Queen’s path and he held his breath while it passed. The cloying cloud seemed to cling to him, sticking to his sweating skin like oil, wiping a stain of what he’d been a part of on him.
“We grow what we want, and we take what we want.” The Queen spoke as if the lines had been rehearsed. As if she had no connection to them other than a rhetoric she hoped to believe if she repeated it enough times.
Flynn still didn’t respond.
“You have to say something, Sixteen.”
The mention of his number snapped tension through Flynn. She’d called him Flynn since he’d been in the community. She’d called him Flynn when she’d let him know she intended to fuck him. But maybe now, at the height of her bloodlust, she showed him what he was to her: a number that could be done away with at any moment.
“So,” the Queen said, “are you in?”
A throat so dry he couldn’t speak, Flynn nodded. What else could he do?
The Queen smiled, the same distant look in her psychotic gaze. “Good.” Her tone dropped. “Next time you don’t get to look away, okay?”
She’d seen him turn away. Flynn gulped the taste of smoke down and nodded.
“Now,” the Queen said, “let’s get this cart hooked up to one of the nags and head back to the royal complex. We’ll be celebrating tonight.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Flynn rode pillion all the way back to the royal complex. Like on the way over, the Queen didn’t speak much, which he felt more than happy to go along with. A darkness had taken her over when they were still in the sacked community. Everything that had come from her mouth since was brimming with the threat of violence.
The cart Flynn had pulled through the community had been tethered to the back of one of the horses. Its rider and passenger sat on the trailer and rocked with the rough ground as the cart rolled over it.
The wind raced across the open fields, kicking up the smell of horse sweat, human sweat, and blood. Maybe the blood had been ingrained into his psyche since the slaughter. He looked down at his shoes and the mud caking them. If he looked harder, he’d be bound to see the spilled essence of the villagers on them too.
When the huge wall of the royal complex came into view, Flynn released an involuntary gasp.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” the Queen said. “I forgot you haven’t returned here without a blindfold on.”
It did look amazing. Something about seeing it revealed rather than riding away from it gave the complex its punch. The large tree-trunk fences, militant in their refusal to let anyone in who didn’t belong. And the gates—not shitty corrugated tin like the community they’d left in flames, these gates only opened when the people of the royal complex intended them to.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Well before they got to the gates, the sound of the large bolts cracked through the surrounding area and they were pulled open to allow the Queen and her party entry.
The huge hinges creaked and the people who’d remained behind formed two lines down either side of the path. They clapped and cheered as the Queen and her crew entered. Some played homemade drums and children danced. How many of them knew the sacrifices that had been made to bring the stack of food back to them?
Even Flynn—who was no more than the Queen’s intended plaything—got a rousing welcome for his return.
To look at the people joyous in their celebrations made Flynn’s head spin. How had the Queen become their ruler? Although, like with Brian, Sharon, and Dan, she offered them stability. Sell people the illusion of security and they’d hand over their freedom.
Once the hunters and their horses had entered the royal complex and come to a halt, Flynn slipped from the back of the Queen’s horse and held his hand out to help her down. Although she didn’t seem like someone to take help, she took it nonetheless, slid from her horse, and continued to hold his hand. She kept a firm grip. A grip that told him who called the shots.
Today would drag on, the celebrations no doubt lasting for hours. Maybe it would be the best day to get the fuck away from the bunch of lunatics. Sure, Rose still sat trapped in a dungeon, but what chance did he have of rescuing her anyway? He had no idea where they kept her and the Queen probably wouldn’t reveal it to him any time soon.
Flynn leaned close enough to the Queen so only she would hear. He whispered in her ear, “I need to go back to my room.”
The Queen spun on him, her face locked in a scowl.
“I need to clean up,” he said. “Dragging that cart took its toll on me, so I want to go and bathe. I’d like to be clean for you later.”
The Queen’s demeanour changed, her back straightening as she smiled slightly. “Well, when you put it like that … We’ll eat in about half an hour. Is that enough time for you?”
“Plenty.” Flynn lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll rush.”
And with that he spun on his heel and headed back to his room. Rose had no hope, so he had to get out of there while he still had a chance.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Flynn entered his room, pushed the door firmly closed behind him, and walked straight to the window. It let light in but didn’t look like it had been cleaned in years. Dirt tinted the glass, dulling his view of the outside world.
Before now it had been no more than a source of light. A cursory glance at the view when he’d first walked into the room and Flynn saw nothing to get excited about. Because of that he hadn’t looked out of it much. Besides, whenever he’d been in his room, he’d either been washing or sleeping; there hadn’t been much time for anything else.
Now Flynn had a reason to look out of the window. He’d seen the overgrown courtyard the first time he’d looked, but now he gave it more of his attention. Several rooms overlooked the ugly space. How many of the other residents had taken the time to look at it?
Paving slabs were arranged with gravel patches in between like a chessboard. The patches looked like they could have been flowerbeds if someone had been bothered to give the space that love and care. Grass grew up through the gaps.
An old metal box at least two metres high stood along one side of the small courtyard. Flynn had seen similar things in similar buildings. Vicky had told him they had been used for power or air-conditioning or communications.
Old, ugly, and obsolete, the tall metal structure would be the perfect step up onto the hospital’s roof. If Flynn got up there unnoticed, he could reach the royal complex’s wall and get the fuck away. Thirty minutes would give him enough time to be gone for good. No way would they catch him after that.
When Flynn thought about Rose, the guilt inside him grew claws. B
ut realistically, what could he do for her now? She probably wouldn’t even make it from the dungeon. And from the way the Queen behaved with her erratic bipolar mood swings, he probably wouldn’t be alive by the time she got out anyway.
Flynn pressed against the window. It didn’t budge. When he looked down, he saw two small holes where a handle had once been bolted to it. They’d made sure he couldn’t get out. “Fuck.”
Adrenaline sent Flynn’s heart rate off the charts as he paced his room. The tick of seconds slipped away from him. He had this chance, he had to make the most of it, and he had to make it work. If he tried to escape and failed … The memory of Jason’s scream rang through his mind. He had to make it work.
He’d wrap something around his hand, smash the window as quietly as he could, and then get out of there. If he moved quickly, it would work. He’d make it work.
They’d left a towel for him when he first came into the community. It currently hung over the chair near his bath. Flynn picked it up, and just before he could wrap it around his fist, a heavy knock clattered on his door.
The bang of it sent Flynn’s pulse racing and he spun around to see the Queen’s face peering in through the round window. The smile felt almost painful, but he forced it anyway. “Hi. Come in.”
She snapped the handle of his door down hard, like she wanted to break it clean off, like her sexual frustration drove her every action. She stormed into the room. For a moment she stared at him and the towel in his hand. “Don’t you need to get wet before you use a towel?”
“I was just moving it so I could run a bath. Is everything okay?”
“I need to take you out again.”
“Already?”
“Something urgent’s come up.”
The Alpha Plague (Book 7) Page 14