by G. B. Hope
‘Liam,’ warned Mr Manning.
Liam went into a trot, side on to where the people were watching them. Then the Quarterback dad sent up a tight spiral for Liam to go after. He watched it come over his right shoulder and caught it to his chest - beginner’s luck - never having played American football in his life before. Laughing, smiling at the delighted Sabrina and the stern Mr Manning, who was worried that he might injure himself, Liam jogged onto the lawn and gave the football to a wide-eyed boy.
‘There you go, mate,’ said Liam, in his best Cockney accent.
They next came upon a crane on the back of a wagon, outside a house construction site. The crane was partially extended, at an angle about ten feet off the ground, as if it had actually stopped at the exact time of the event beginning. Because he was excited from the football incident, and also at the possibility of being near to his sister, Liam saw the crane as another moment of fun to be had. He put his gun down on the sidewalk and prepared to leap up onto one of the diagonal rungs, despite Sabrina trying to stop him.
‘There’s that craze at the moment,’ said Liam, ‘where lads climb cranes and hang off them without any safety rope.’ Up he went, swinging like a chimpanzee. It amused Allison, who was laughing for probably the first time. The Mannings watched on like impatient parents. Liam hopped a few rungs, smiling at Sabrina, perhaps hoping to impress her a little bit with his macho side. ‘I may not be five hundred feet up and risking certain death, but I can pretend.’
Then he was grateful he wasn’t five hundred feet high as his left hand slipped and he dropped to the ground, landing awkwardly, before performing a forward roll with a yelp. Sabrina squealed and ran to Liam, who was grasping his left ankle. He was more embarrassed than hurt. Mr Manning squatted down to check on him, hiding his annoyance. The ankle had swelled up instantly. Liam cursed as the pain finally hit him, as well as the anger at his own stupidity.
TWENTY EIGHT
‘Do it,’ said Taylor. ‘You’re going to have to do it. They’ve sent Mrs Jefferson to check it’s been done.’
Michael stared at Taylor, not even blinking his eyes. Then he ran a hand over his face and looked away, around Taylor’s room. He found her to be quite neutral about it all - no defiant hate or miserable acceptance on her face, just matter-of-fact over it. He thought of old Mrs Jefferson, that harmless American lady, sitting in the laundry drinking coffee with Jane Flynn. Only a few weeks ago the woman, who he believed came from Pittsburgh, would have been thinking about her grandchildren and doing whatever hobby she liked to do in her retirement. Now she was there to check that he followed a directive, passed down the chain of command, that he was to cane Taylor for her outburst at the disciplinary meeting. Twelve strokes which were to leave significant marks.
He wanted to run. Yet it was exactly the wrong time to run. He was in the spotlight. Could they pretend? Would Mrs Jefferson agree to lie? Could he put her in that position? Perhaps Ferguson was twisted enough to have a check himself in the next couple of days.
‘Can we just do it, already,’ said Taylor, with just a hint of petulant teenager.
Mrs Jefferson had actually brought the cane. How did she feel about having to do that? Michael picked the thing up.
‘Lie on your bed,’ he said to Taylor. ‘Face down.’
She rolled her eyes at the face down instruction, which was a fairly obvious requirement. Michael frowned heavily as he watched Taylor get on the bed and lift her white shirt. He had once spanked a girlfriend, in consensual fun - which one was it? Oh, the current one. And it had been fun. But this was appalling for him. He was starting to sweat. He made as if to pull down Taylor’s white panties, but she did it for him - of course, he thought, no need to lay hands on her. It was impossible not to consider her butt as very firm and cute.
Michael paced about the room, tapping the cane on the palm of his left hand, until he realised that was too much like a headmaster. He must play his part, he told himself. He must do it properly. Get this over with, then run at the earliest opportunity.
‘Ready, Taylor?’
‘Yes, sir!’
Michael lined up the first stroke, indenting the cane across both cheeks. He had to leave a mark. Christ, he thought, shouldn’t she have something to bite down on? He raised his arm and caned Taylor as hard as he could, making her scream with pain and arch her back. She brought her hands round to hold her backside. Michael swore in his mind. He would have to tie her hands. He did that with her own belt, to the bedstead. Looking down, he saw a faint red mark across both buttocks - a few of those would not be enough, so at least he knew what was required now. Desperate to get it over with quickly he proceeded to thrash Taylor’s ass with all his might, until his arm actually ached. She was in terrible pain, thrashing about. He checked his handiwork; heavy marks, one of which had broken the skin and was bleeding. He then stormed down to the laundry, only at the last second composing himself, acting as if he was not horrified by what he had had to do, and looked in on Jane Flynn and Mrs Jefferson, who both got to their feet immediately.
‘That’s been dealt with,’ he said. ‘Go in and tend to her.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jane Flynn.
***
At the Ivanovic compound on Long Island, Steven Ziegler found, that on most days, he liked to wander down to his old guard post, to be reminded of when things were normal - not necessarily better - just normal. He liked being Ivanovic’s deputy, although the people in the group, which had since been boosted by the arrival of another homecoming couple, Mr and Mrs Martinson, were no trouble at all. Ziegler kept a good watch on the area, always armed. He liked the way his food was provided for him on time, and his room was much better than at home. Occasionally, he thought of his family, but managed to shake it from his mind.
There was constant activity by then, on the main road, with people coming and going with firewood and items they had scavenged for their homes. On one particularly pleasant day he walked out of the estate, glanced over at his booth, then stood to allow the sun to warm his face. He heard someone speak. A small woman, with red hair and red glasses which were too big for her, was passing by, talking to herself. As Ziegler watched her, she stopped, had a furious row with an imaginary companion, then carried on her way. Another sound to his left provided a more enjoyable sight, as Kat and Danielle came by on bicycles, as leisurely as could be. Both women were in shorts and tee-shirts, laughing to each other. They were circling around the bottom of the drive, with no intention of leaving the estate. They were unaware of Ziegler watching them lecherously as he leant on his booth.
Something new took Ziegler’s attention. Approaching, was a small group of people. Ziegler altered the position of his machine gun, ready for if they turned out to be hostile. A young man was being given a piggy-back by an older man, which was the most immediate thing he noticed, with three tired-looking women walking behind. He liked the look of the younger women, as they got nearer.
Danielle saw Ziegler and stopped her giddiness with Kat.
‘Let’s go back,’ she said.
Kat spotted Ziegler then too and started to turn her bike around, but she was quite awkward on it, having not ridden since being a child. Danielle continued to circle around her friend, waiting for her to get her feet coordinated. Danielle stopped cycling as she noticed the strangers passing by. She had to shade her eyes. She wondered why the younger man was being carried by the older one. Then the head of the man being carried moved into shade.
‘Liam!’ screamed Danielle. She dropped the bike between her legs. ‘Liam!’ She set off running towards this group.
‘Danielle!?’ shouted Liam.
The females in the group, Mrs Manning, Allison and Sabrina, had to move aside as brother and sister, Liam and Danielle, were finally reunited. Completely ignoring the fact that Liam was on another man’s back, she leapt delighted into his arms, bringing the three of them crashing to the ground.
‘How did you find me!?’ laughed Danielle, not lettin
g him go.
‘It’s a long story. Are you all right?’
‘Did you find the message I left you?’
‘No, I found this address in your luggage.’
Zahira Manning helped her husband up, and he seemed more concerned with watching the reunion than whether he was hurt at all. It was amazing that they had actually succeeded. Allison and Sabrina watched on, equally fascinated. Sabrina was in tears, wringing her hands, delighted that Liam had found his sister. Liam and Danielle were laughing so much as to almost go into hysterics.
Allison couldn’t take her eyes off Danielle - she really could not stop looking at the woman they had been searching for, assessing her from head to toe. It was as though she was seeing if she had been worth it all.
TWENTY NINE
The children in the Stickford enclave enjoyed learning One Direction songs from Charlie. It amused them that she knew every single word. Charlie had become their main carer - Ana still spending time with them, but getting more and more involved with Jonathan, and even helping with growing the vegetables. Charlie didn’t mind having the children for most of the time - it was as good a way as any to pass the days.
On the warm afternoons they all went into the absent Ryan family’s swimming pool. There were plenty of ball games to play. During Mr Grainger’s barbecues, the adults loved watching an impromptu softball game. The children owned bicycles, although there were no adult ones, so Charlie took to jogging alongside as they went around the estate, where they came upon other children, but it was thought best not to try to integrate for the time being.
So far, schooling was on hold. There had been discussions about it. The Springsteens and Mr Stickford were, perhaps, hoping for some kind of normality to return, before they had to tackle that issue.
When she got time to herself one afternoon, Charlie made a cup of coffee and wandered over to see how the vegetable patch was coming along. It was a lovely day, temperature-wise, with a nice breeze. She approached Jonathan, laughing at his makeshift straw hat. He smiled warmly at her.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘I look like an Amish person. How are you today, Charlie?’
‘I’m good, Jonathan.’
‘I’m good, too. You know what, I kind of like this lifestyle. There’s no stress with it.’
‘Plus, you’ve got the lovely Ana.’
Jonathan blushed.
‘I’m very happy, Charlie. I’ve been thinking. I think I was born in the wrong time. I should have been born in the 19th century, as a farmer. Do you know what I mean?’
Charlie kissed him on the cheek.
‘I know what you mean.’
***
Ivanovic was in two minds; whether to punch Ziegler hard in the face, or pat him on the back. They were standing at the top of the Millers’ staircase, looking through the window down onto the carnival of people on the front lawn, as Danielle excitedly, and with great pride, introduced her brother to everyone - this man, Liam, who had found his sister against all the odds.
What Ivanovic had an issue with was the fact that Ziegler had allowed two armed men to join the group. That he had led them in like a Florence tour guide with his umbrella up in the air. The fact that one of them was Danielle’s brother didn’t detract from the fact that there were new, uncontrolled weapons in the compound. But on the other hand, he now had Allison in his life. She was the most amazing woman he had ever seen. Yes, she appeared worse for wear after what she had been through, but underneath all the grime there was a stunning woman with model looks.
‘Where did these people come from?’ he asked Ziegler.
Ziegler told his boss all he knew.
‘Fascinating,’ said Ivanovic, to himself, after a moment. ‘Let’s go down.’
As they joined the throng, Ivanovic saw Danielle’s beaming face. With or without the new woman, he was still enamoured by Danielle. It was good and respectful that, as soon as she saw him, she attempted to introduce her brother.
He and Liam shook hands, then did the same with Mr Manning, who was propping Liam up on one leg.
‘Thank you for protecting my sister, Mr Ivanovic,’ said Liam.
‘It’s been an honour. Are you injured?’
Liam explained that he felt he had twisted his ankle. It was badly swollen.
‘I wish I could offer you some ice for it,’ joked Ivanovic, without much humour in his eyes.
Ivanovic glanced at the female newcomers, who were engrossed in conversations.
‘That’s my wife, Zahira,’ pointed out Mr Manning.
‘And that’s Sabrina,’ said Liam. ‘My girlfriend.’
That was news, of course, to Danielle, who shared an amused look with her brother.
Allison was more on the ball than the other two, noticing the main man, and came across to say hello. Ivanovic lingered over their handshake. Absolutely bizarrely, Liam had a vision of an old film from home, called Bless This House, a spin-off from a comedy series. There was a sleazy character, played by the actor Bill Maynard, who would fondle all the way up a woman’s forearm during an introduction. Liam let out a little guffaw. Ivanovic and Allison missed the noise, being so interested in each other.
‘Allison? It’s a pleasure. My name’s Martin Ivanovic.’
‘Hi.’
‘I hear you’ve had a terrible journey. I hope you will stay with us as long as possible and recharge your batteries.’
‘That’s so kind of you, Mr Ivanovic.’
‘Martin, please. Come, come, let’s get you some food. Everyone, our guests must eat!’
***
Jane Flynn made superb omelettes.
‘As good as Delia Smith’s,’ complimented Michael, much to Jane’s puzzlement.
She did the omelettes for the group’s lunch, in the little canteen beside the laundry room, with Michael served first, of course. As he chewed away, Michael watched the men under his command. He had been talking to them all morning, getting to know them better. An idea had been forming, to use them as decoys in some way, to create a distraction while he fled the Country Club. Phillip, the older man, was the best bet; perhaps making a big, noisy scene about being kept away from his wife. A demonstration. It would be cruel on him ultimately, but Michael had to get a good hour away through the woods.
Michael noticed young Jerry eyeing up his machine gun, sitting at his feet. He knew the boy was not thinking anything stupid.
‘Do you like firearms, Jerry?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
He picked it up and handed it across the table. The magazine was safely in his coat pocket. Jerry handled the weapon with joy and fascination.
‘Ever been shooting, Jerry?’
‘Yes, sir. With my father.’
‘Maybe you could try that out. I’ll ask permission.’
‘Thank you, sir. That would be great. But I don’t think it will be allowed.’
The weapon was passed back. Jane Flynn looked at it, wondering vaguely if it was the same model owned by her man in New Haven.
Michael finished his meal, and Sienna removed his plate. He watched her for a second. Then he looked across at Taylor, eating quietly. Every time he looked at Taylor he remembered how he had beaten her. Then back at the three men. He thought about how many men Ferguson had around him - ten would be a good guess. There were about thirty five normal men at the Country Club. He wondered what was he thinking? Jane placed a cup of coffee before him. What if he didn’t have to flee in the night? What if Ferguson and his whole crew were removed? The men in front of him didn’t exactly fill him with great confidence in that regard, but three or four from the entire place going after one of Ferguson’s men at the same time had a chance of working. He needed some interaction with the other men there. Some way to gauge their collective mood. A football game? Baseball? Golf was the obvious thing. He could organise a pitch and putt competition, on the 18th green. Sell it to Ferguson as exercise.
‘Taylor?’
‘Sir?’
‘Do you
play golf?’
Ferguson granted Michael an audience over breakfast the next day. Because it was part of his mantra that everyone at the Country Club should take a healthy walk every day, he was keen on the idea, as well as wanting to say yes to the man who had saved his life.
So, Michael was given carte blanche to move around freely to chat to all the men there (the women were not allowed to take part), to get a feel for their collective frame of mind. He compiled a mental list of approximately two dozen men aged between eighteen and sixty who seemed to be hiding their anger and rage at their present circumstances in life; men who might be open to a suggestion to take part in an insurrection. During the pitch and putt competition he would broach the subject, as he intended to be on the tee to greet every competitor.
Ferguson’s man, Bill, was delegated to collect the relevant golf equipment and buckets of balls, as well as a blackboard and a trophy. With nothing else pressing, the competition was set for two days later, immediately after the regular morning walk. The females would at least be allowed to watch the event.
Michael spent the next forty-eight hours preparing for the competition. With the help of his three crewmen, they created a temporary tee on the 18th fairway (the groundsman in charge of the course had been one of the people to leave early on). Even though none of them would be playing, they had a practice game, which Jerry won easily. At one point, Taylor and Sienna came out to have a look at what they were doing. Michael thought that, out in the bright sunshine, Taylor had remarkably sexy legs. He also thought he should let her in on his plans. But then again, her moody expression shouldn’t suddenly change, so he decided to leave her hating him for the time being.
Phillip asked permission to say something to Michael.