The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light

by Tim Flanagan

  'Please help my friend,' she pleaded as the men entered the greenhouse. 'I think he's been shot.'

  'Kilmartin said he saw someone outside the house last night,' said the guard in charge to the man at the tool shed. 'He thought he might have shot one as they ran away, but was sure the creatures would feast on him by the end of the night.'

  'There's blood on the path,' shouted one of the guards inside the greenhouse as they stepped cautiously along the path towards the workshop door.

  Georgia watched as the two men entered the workshop and disappeared into the darkness. From where she was, neither Georgia nor the remaining guards would be able to see inside the workshop. She listened and was sure that she heard two faint thuds, but maybe it was only her imagination because she had expected it. Thankfully there was no gunfire which meant that so far Tracker’s plan was working.

  Georgia took a step away from the guard and nearer to a survivor who had stopped hoeing the ground and was watching what was going on.

  'Stay where you are,' instructed the main guard, thinking that Georgia was about to make a break for freedom and escape. 'What have you found?' he shouted towards the greenhouse.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  'We might need some help in here,' came a reply.

  The main guard sighed. 'Go and help them,' he instructed the remaining guard at the tool shed. He was younger than the others and Georgia was sure she noticed a slight bow of his head as he was told what to do. Without hesitation he walked straight into the greenhouse and into the workshop. Again, no gunshot. Now it was Georgia's turn.

  The main guard waited patiently.

  'What are you doing in there?' he shouted towards the greenhouse. He turned to Georgia ready to ask her a question, but as he did, his face was whipped to the side as the wooden pole from a hoe struck his cheek and knocked him to the ground. In the time it took him to blink and realise what was happening, Georgia had kicked away his gun, pulled her handgun from the back of her trousers and was aiming it at the guard's head.

  'I might only be able to use one arm, but I wouldn’t say I was totally useless,' she said to her prisoner.

  From the greenhouse two men walked out of the door, bound the hands of Georgia's prisoner with garden twine and dragged him into the greenhouse. Inside the workshop Steven and Tracker dropped the guard beside the other three, one still unconscious from being hit on the head with the wood as they had entered the workshop. They had stripped the guards of all weapons, keys and tools, and gathered them in a wooden crate which Steven carried back out into the sunshine.

  All of the survivors had stopped working and were silently watching the three people standing before them.

  Tracker emptied the crate on the ground then turned it over and stood on it so that everyone could see him.

  'Hello,' he said, nervously addressing the chained up survivors. He realised how pathetic it sounded as soon as he said it, but he was unsure what to tell them.

  He tried again. 'The human race has been dealt a devastating blow. Not everyone has survived the creatures attack, but for one reason or another, everyone standing in this garden right now, is alive. The future of mankind rests on our shoulders, so I see no reason that you should all be held in chains. We are special and we are unique, you do not deserve to be held captive and suppressed in this manner.’ Tracker looked across the faces of the survivors in the garden and realised that he had their attention. ‘My friends here will start to take the chains off your ankles in a moment. From that time you will be free to do whatever you want and go wherever you want, but I urge you not to run away, otherwise you will be captured by the same people that put you in your chains. This is not the sort of justice or community you should be part of.'

  One of the survivors put his hand in the air, requesting to speak. 'As long as we stick to the rules, we know we are safe from the creatures,' he said.

  'Who will feed us?' asked another nervous looking man.

  'You shouldn’t have to stick to the rules, you are not a prisoner,’ replied Tracker. ‘You can feed yourselves. You should not be dictated to by others or put in chains. You were free before the creatures came, and managed to feed yourself, you deserve to be free again.'

  'But where will we go?' asked another survivor. Some of the others around her nodded their heads in agreement.

  'You have everything here to survive. The only problem you have is the management of the community that is trying to control your lives. Once we release you I ask you to join me and my friends in fighting those who put you in chains.'

  'But what about the creatures?' said another, 'who will protect us from the creatures?'

  'You have not been told the complete truth. There are ways to prevent yourself from getting sick or being attacked by the creatures, other than with guns. There are antibiotics available that will prevent you from getting sick, as well as a vaccine that is being developed. Somehow, probably through one of their senses, the creatures avoid you if you have taken the antibiotics.'

  'How do you know this?'

  'We have had first hand experience with the creatures and travelled around during the day and night without any being attacked. We have come from another community near London that is growing its own food and collecting water without the threat of creature attacks. Our scientists are working on producing enough vaccine to protect everyone from the creatures, once we have it we should be able to resume a relatively normal life alongside the creatures.'

  'Do you have the antibiotics here?'

  'No, but your leader, the American, has a supply of antibiotics himself. We suspect he is providing them to key members of the community to protect them. We also believe there is a scientist who travelled here with him who also has the ability to create the vaccine.'

  'If this were true, why wouldn’t he give it to every member of the community?' asked a young man leaning on his spade.

  'Power,' replied Tracker. 'He can control the people that surround him. Making sure they are people he can trust or will obey his instructions without question. You can see the results of those that don’t fit in with his idea if you go round the back of Osborne House and take a look at the fountain.'

  'We are proof that the antibiotics work,' added Steven. 'We travelled unmolested by the creatures to the Isle of Wight in pursuit of this community. The American is selecting the strongest people whilst getting rid of the elderly, sick and disabled. We cannot take you all back to the mainland, but we can help you build a community here on the island that does not involve being chained, or punished for standing up against the management. A free community would give you all a fair chance at a future for yourselves and your children. If you want to be part of a community where you can be free to make your own choices and not live under the threat of creatures or tyranny, join us and take control.'

  'But we would need the vaccine,' shouted a survivor in one corner.

  'The American is likely to keep the antibiotics and vaccine close to him. It is probably being developed here at Osborne House. You need to take control of the community and work together,' Tracker continued.

  'My sister works in the Health Sector as a nurse,’ spoke a lady near the front. She turned slightly so that the other survivors could hear her. ‘She says the American often visits a professor that works in a separate room experimenting with things. No one seems to know what he's doing in there.'

  ‘That may be where the vaccine is being developed. But your first step to freedom would be to overthrow the management then find the vaccine.'

  'The current management might not treat us as well as we would like, but every community or group of people needs a leader to make decisions.'

  Steven and Georgia looked over to Tracker, waiting to see what he said.

  ‘My name is James Hallington. I am the Queen’s cousin,’ Tracker seemed to stand taller as he said the words. ‘There has been no contact from the royal household since the creatures attacked us. I will lead you and, until the human
race can take control of this situation and the monarchy of England can be restored, I will temporarily act as your King. I will stay on the island, we will rebuild the homes, grow our crops and live in a society that is equal and fair to everyone. Decisions should be made by several people on a council that represents the whole of the community rather than just one person.’

  Steven watched the faces of the survivors that all nodded eagerly. Tracker had given them the hope and possibility of a future.

  ‘Will you join us and take the house?' asked Tracker.

  At first there was silence which was finally broken by the voice of one man. ‘I’m with you,’ he said, raising a hoe defiantly into the air.

  ‘Me too,’ said another.

  ‘And me.’

  Seeing this bravery and commitment encouraged the others to agree. Suddenly the atmosphere inside the walled garden had changed to one of optimism and hope. The survivors no longer hung their heads down or shuffled under the weight of a chain, now they chatted and held their heads high.

  Steven and Georgia picked up the keys from the pile of belongings they had taken from the guards and walked around the perimeter of the garden unlocking the chains from the metal rings on the wall. They then started removing the ankle clamps that connected each survivor to their neighbour.

  'If we are to take control of the house, we need to have weapons?' said one of the men.

  'We have some guns,’ replied Tracker loud enough so everyone would be able to hear over the excited chatter. ‘We also have the tools in our hands together with the passion and strength to fight. But, most of all, we have a reason.’

  The crowd nodded.

  Tracker continued. ‘We cannot approach the house like an angry mob, otherwise we will be locked out. We must get inside and quietly spread the word amongst the other survivors. If everyone stands up against the American and his management, we should be able to succeed. It’s time to take control of your life and create a future for yourself.'

  25. The Road to Avalon

  Edgar and the boys had spent the night inside a small room within the transept just off the main chamber within the church. The screams from the creatures mixed with the oppressive booms of thunder rolled on into the early hours of the morning making the night drag on for hours. To reassure the boys, Edgar had agreed to stay awake, his ears alert to the sounds that managed to penetrate the thick sandstone blocks that cocooned them inside the church, whilst his eyes remained trained on the narrow crack of light that slipped beneath the thick wooden door. As the position of the moon altered during the night, so did the pattern of light that squeezed into the room. At one point Edgar noticed a faint red hue side by side with a bright yellow. He realised that the light was penetrating the church through one of the stained glass windows and casting a rainbow of colour towards their small room.

  There were times when Edgar struggled to keep his eyes open, tiredness was beginning to mix with the wave of sickness that flooded over his body at regular intervals. He hadn’t eaten much since they had left Ingleton, fearing that his stomach would reject any food that entered his body. He looked at his reflection in the bright surface of his sword that rested across his folded knees. In it he saw an old man with sunken cheeks and tired eyes. His hair was matted and hung in clumps, heavy from soaking up the sweat his body seemed to constantly produce. Part of Edgar felt relief that his time was shortly coming to an end. And, what better way could he have wished, than to end it in Avalon, where he may once again see his brothers and his king. It may have been his imagination, but Edgar could almost feel a change in Ethera, when he held it, it felt more alive, as if every molecule inside it was beginning to vibrate like it was being pulled by an incredibly strong magnet.

  Edgar had begun to keep his hands covered with a pair of driving gloves he had found inside the BMW, conscious that the boy’s eyes cautiously and involuntarily kept glancing to them. He knew that beneath the glove, the skin on his hand had turned the same colour as the black leather that hid it. He also noticed that it was beginning to become harder to move and grasp things with his fingers, the decay and necrosis drying up the cells that made up his muscles and ligaments, making them rigid and inflexible. There was also a numb and cold feeling that was spreading up his arm and neck, behind his ear and into the back of his head. Soon, his body would shut down and he would be incapable of completing his journey. But, he was so close, a short drive, and a walk and he would be in Avalon where his body would be cleansed and he could finally rest.

  The light beneath the door to the room was beginning to change, instead of the greys of night; a warmer colour was beginning to show, one that was not caused by the ornate windows, but by light bouncing off the sandstone and wood that richly decorated the nave of the church.

  Edgar reached out his gloved hand and wrapped it tightly around the bottle of water that stood on the floor beside him. He had been careful not to share his bottle with the children - he didn’t want to be responsible for them consuming the black poison. He raised the bottle to his lips and gently let a small amount of water into his mouth. It felt cold as it dribbled around the sides of his tongue. He licked his lips, letting the moisture rehydrate the shrunken folded skin, before finally swallowing. That part wasn’t so pleasurable. His throat was dry and felt like it was on fire and the water dragged and scratched as it squeezed its way down. The pain was so intense it made him cough, which only had the effect of hurting his throat even more. He coughed once again, this time trying to suppress it so he did not disturb the phlegm that rattled at the back of his throat. As he took a deep breath he noticed some moisture in the corner of his mouth, some of the water, he presumed, had come back into his mouth. He licked at the corner with his tongue, but it was warm and had an unusual taste to it. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a tissue and dabbed it at the corner of his mouth. When he withdrew it, he instinctively looked at the tissue and saw a smudge of deep red blood. Edgar realised that the creatures poison had now penetrated his lungs; the walk to Avalon was not going to be easy. Oxygen levels higher up in the mountain would be lower than he was used to, and if his lungs didn’t function as well as they should, the walk was going to be a struggle.

  ‘Are you ok?’ asked a voice from inside the anti-chamber.

  ‘Fine,’ lied Edgar as he quickly palmed the tissue so neither of the boys could see it. ‘Drank too quickly, that’s all’

  ‘When do you think it will be safe for us to leave?’ asked Max.

  ‘Only when we are certain the creatures have gone.’

  They waited in silence, mesmerized by the narrow crack of light beneath the door. Max pulled some crackers from one of the bags and begun dipping them in a jar of honey.

  Once the morning sun had become strong enough to illuminate the room in the transept, Edgar slowly stood up and straightened his back.

  ‘I’m going to go into the main part of the church so that I can see outside,’ explained Edgar. ‘Have you both got your weapons from the Underworld?’

  Joe pulled a leather scabbard from his bag. The surface was carved with an ornate interweaving pattern that twisted around the symbol of the phoenix. He gripped the handle and pulled out a sword whose surface seemed to shimmer and flow as if it were alive. The sword had been a gift from King Conroy, given to Joe on the morning of the battle against the Faerie Queens army.

  Max had also kept a weapon from the battle, a souvenir from one of the Green Huntsmen. From his bag, he pulled an elegant wooden bow with a quiver full of arrows.

  Satisfied that the two boys had something to protect themselves with, Edgar quietly slid the bolts back and opened the door a crack so that he could look into the nave. He could see the wooden benches, lined up in two undisturbed rows along each side and punctuated by thick marble pillars that supported stone arches and the weight of the wooden vaulted ceiling. Daylight was beginning to stream through some of the windows. Everything in the nave appeared undisturbed, but Edgar couldn’t see behind where they ha
d hidden in the room to the side of the choir stalls.

  He nervously opened the door a little more.

  It released a dry creak into the cavernous church that seemed ten times louder than it actually was.

  Edgar waited.

  There was no sound of movement. He took a step out of the room, keeping his body close to the wooden panelling that covered that wall. He could see the wooden carved pulpit that stood on the other side, as well as the red and blue carpet that stretched through from the nave, up a step and into the presbytery. Edgar stretched his neck round the edge until he could see along the choir stall benches to the large stained glass window at the end. Again, nothing appeared to have been disturbed. He let out a sigh of relief then beckoned for the two boys to follow him.

  Together they watched the orange sun burn across the sky, through a tiny leaded window at the base of the tower. On one side of the church was open country and fields of green, whilst to the other, they could see a residential area and an endless stream of roof tops. The creatures didn’t seem to be hunting over the fields and church, but a swarm of black shadows twisted and turned in the sky above the houses nearby. They seemed to flock and turn making patterns and shapes that twisted as one then funnelled down like a giant wing of darkness towards their prey.

  Edgar and the children waited.

  Although the creatures thinned, it was mid-day by the time the sky was completely clear of any danger. But, even then, they stayed where they were for another hour.

  Eventually, they crept back to the BMW, packed the back of the car and continued on their journey west towards the Snowdonia mountain range that loomed in the distance.

  The road turned north until they were driving immediately alongside Colwyn Bay, a deserted stretch of white wooden holiday homes that overlooked the sandy beach from a grassy embankment. On the horizon the sea was a murky green-grey colour caused by the overnight storm disturbing the sea bed. Ripples of white foam raced towards the beach in a continuous line only to be chased by another until they got sucked into the sand and vanished from sight.