by Conrad Jones
“Drop it now or we will shoot!” He signalled to the sniper again and a shot rang out. The front wheel of the Navara exploded and something in my mind snapped.
I dived back into the tent and closed the zip.
“Move in!” I heard the order to close in on the tent.
I scurried across the groundsheet, grabbed my bag and slashed the back wall material with my blade. There was only a metre between the tent and the ‘v’ in the wall and the breach was out of sight to the police. I jumped onto the wall and scrambled over it in seconds. It crossed my mind that they may have a sniper in the trees but I doubted it and didn’t care anyway. Ducking low, I sprinted into the trees and didn’t look back.
“Come out of the tent, now!”
I heard the command repeated over and over as I ran for my life. The ground beneath me was spongy and the sound of twigs cracking and leaves rustling seemed almost deafening. The scent of spruce and pine filled my nostrils as I bolted through the trees; their lower branches scratched and whipped my skin as if they were conspiring to slow me down.
“Throw the weapon out of the tent now!”
They hadn’t seen me escape through the back. My choice of pitch had been the right one although it had been more luck than judgement. The trees became denser as I ran and blood mingled with the sweat running down my face as I ploughed blindly through the foliage. The ground began to climb steeply the further I ran. I could hear the waterfalls becoming louder and the voices of the police faded as I began to climb the lower slopes of the mountain. The helicopter hovered over the camp, unaware that I was putting distance between us. I knew it would be minutes before they realised that I had slipped through the net and then the helicopter would scour the mountain with heat seeking cameras. I had to put as much space between them and myself as I could before they began hunting me. My lungs were screaming at me, every breath burning my insides. The muscles in my thighs felt like concrete had been injected into the veins as my legs pumped wildly up the steep incline. Saliva sprayed from my lips with every pounding step and the sweat stung my eyes and making focusing impossible. Dodging the tree trunks was difficult enough but avoiding the whip like lower branches was nigh on impossible. I headed towards the sound of the falls, knowing that following its path up the mountain would be easier than climbing blindly. I ran and ran for what felt like hours until my body decided that it wouldn’t or couldn’t carry on without rest. As I reached the river below the falls, I collapsed into a bloodied sweaty heap and then I heard a mobile phone ringing in the bag.
Chapter 23
I rooted through the bag searching for the ringing phone. I had five belonging to dead niners. It was the waterproof JCB phone, which I’d acquired at the Miner’s Bridge episode. I stared at the screen and felt the blood running cold in my veins.
“Hello,” I answered trying not to sound exhausted.
“Conrad,” her voice sent shivers down my spine. “I take it they haven’t shot you yet.” She giggled like a teenage girl. “I really wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Jennifer,” my voice rasped. I didn’t have a clue what to say. This was the woman who had caused all my pain, all my despair, all my loneliness, all the murders, all the fear and here she was calling me on a dead niner's mobile. “How did you know it would be me that answered?”
“Oh ,I just know things like that!” The giggle sounded more disturbing this time. “I knew you would have their phones. You’re a clever man.”
“Not that clever, or I wouldn’t be in the shit I’m in now.”
“It wasn’t your choice,” the words almost whispered. “Don’t kick yourself. I would have got to you one way or the other.”
“All this because of a book,” I sighed. My breathing was settling down and as I lay looking at the evening sky listening to the water falling over the rocks, I could have stayed there forever. “I guess I’ll never learn when to leave something alone, eh?”
“I guess so.”
“Someone would have exposed you sooner or later,” I sighed. I felt remarkably calm as I talked to her. “People just won’t tolerate child abuse, you sick bitch.”
“There you go again,” she sounded like a slightly pissed off girlfriend. “You just can’t get your head around it all, can you?”
“No one normal would.”
“I don’t make anybody do what they do,” she lowered her voice again. “‘Do as thou shalt’, is the code we live by. Some want to hurt and abuse, rape and torture, while others find it repugnant. They do what they want to do, you know, really want to, deep deep down in their black hearts,” she giggled again. “You’re as dark as my darkest followers, Conrad. You’re a killer, a murderer, a torturer. You’re no better than them.”
“They’re sick scum, like you,” I snapped. I sat up and scanned the woods for my pursuers but there was nothing but birds in the trees. “I hurt those people because they’re evil. They don’t deserve to live.”
“You are the man to decide that, are you?”
“For now, yes,”I sighed. “The spotlight is on your cult, Jennifer. The police and the Security Services are trawling the country for your kind and they’ll find some of you too. I don’t give a fuck how many of you die before they catch me.”
“You’ve proved that already.”
“What do you want, Jennifer?”
“Your head on a stick, your heart in a bowl alongside your other organs and oh, did I mention that I want you to watch while I feed your child to my priests?”
“There is no child, you fucking lunatic.”
“You fucked me and you know what happens when a man puts his little sperms into a woman’s pussy, babies are made!”
“I don’t know what happened,” I argued. I wasn’t lying. To this day I don’t know if it was all a bad dream brought on by some kind of mental telepathy or if it did actually happen. She had done something to my mind. That was for certain.
“You loved it.”
“You’re sick.”
“You wanted to fuck me the first time you laid your eyes on me.”
“I felt sorry for you.”
“You were infatuated.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh I’ve been around enough men in my time to see it their eyes,” she giggled again. “But you know that I didn’t just see it in your eyes, I read your mind.”
“Whatever.”
“You wanted me the minute you saw me and you still do.”
“I really want to see you again, Jennifer,” I chuckled to myself. “So I can blow your fucking brains out.”
“She’s three weeks old.”
“Who is?”
“Our daughter.”
“Bollocks.”
“You know it’s true.”
“I don’t and I don’t care,” I clenched my teeth. “Anything that has come from you is pure evil. You can try and put my head on a stick with pleasure but trust me I’ll take dozens of your scum-bag followers with me. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”
“That’s why I’m ringing you, silly boy,” she whispered again.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“What game are playing now?”
“No games.”
“What then?”
“I’m going to tell you where I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want the police getting hold of those mobile phones which you’re carrying, or listening to you ranting about our order,” she hissed. “I need you dead, Conrad and if you’re determined to find me, then I’ll tell you where I am and we can put an end to this once and for all.”
“Suits me fine,” I took a deep breath. “Where and when?”
“Trefignath.”
“Where?” The name rang a bell in my head but I was so tired and confused that it didn’t sink in properly. The name seemed to echo inside my head. I had read about it but I couldn’t remember when or why.
“You k
now it, Conrad,” she giggled again.
“It sounds familiar but I can’t place it.”
“You’ve been there many times.”
“Just tell me where it is.”
“It lies at the centre of the source of our power.”
“Bollocks,” was all I could think to say. I was searching my memory banks for the name. “You’re nothing special.”
“Charming,” she chuckled. “The night after next is the Lammas Day and the full moon. I’ll be there then.”
“Are you talking about the standing stones?” It clicked. “On Holy Island?”
“Clever boy.”
“Are you having one of your demented little gatherings there?”
“Something like that,” she whispered. “But this is a special one, just for you.”
“Just a bunch of perverts bumming each other in a field,” I laughed. The more distance there was between myself and Jennifer Booth, the less I believed that she was anything but a sick woman. “I don’t think you’ll be there. You’re lying.”
“I could be.”
“Why play games?”
“I don’t want you telephoning the police and spoiling everything,” she sighed. “I’ve planned this for so long.”
“So where will you be?”
“Go to Trefignath and someone will meet you there,” she went into impatient girlfriend mode again. “They will bring you to me, if the others don’t get to you first.”
“What others?”
“There are many hunting you, Conrad,” she snapped. “The police are the least of your problems.”
“I’ve done okay so far.”
“Granted,” she said. “Be at the stones and my people will meet you.”
“Good,” I didn’t like the plan one bit. “Then they’ll die just before you do.”
“Do you really believe that you can kill me?” She sounded irritated now. “After all you’ve been through, do you really think that you can?”
“You bleed just like I do,” I said looking at the blood and sweat smeared on the back of my hands. “If you bleed, then you die; simples.”
“You’re boring me now,” she snapped. “Be there, you fool.”
“Fuck you.”
“Poor boy,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll see you on Friday.”
The line went dead as she hung up. I stared at the blank screen and thought about the call. Trefignath was situated on Holy Island. It’s an island separated from Anglesey by the ‘Inland Sea’. Tourists visiting Treaddur Bay or travelling by ferry from Holyhead to Ireland rarely realise that it’s a separate landmass. There are standing stones dotted all over North Wales, which are aligned with those on Anglesey and Holy Island. Many believe they’re sited along ‘ley lines’ where spiritual or mystical energy can be accessed. I’d read many theories about the ley lines but remembered one specifically, which mentioned sites where the lines intersected. The author had called them ‘ley gates’ and Trefignath was the one he theorised as the most significant as it was at an intersection of not one, but four ley lines. The theory is that the ancient Druids used the ley gates for ceremonies because that was where the mystical energy was the most potent. Mumbo-jumbo or not, the stones are there and are dated to 3500 BC. Who knows why they were erected or who did it, but it seemed that Jennifer Booth and the Order of Nine Angels believed that they could tap into this mystical energy. If it is there, then I suppose it can be used by evil doers just as easily as it can for good. Trefignath is a stone circle with a plinth across two of the stones. There’s a chamber beneath. I knew it well as I had spent my teenage years on Anglesey and it was somewhere I used to walk the dog back then.
I knew where it was, however, I had no vehicle and it was sixty miles away on the other side of the Snowdonia range. Add to that several armed police units, a helicopter and any number of niners and reaching Anglesey was as simple as flying to Mars on a push-bike. I felt like giving up at that point. Suddenly, an engine noise pierced the air. I rolled over and searched the trees with my eyes. I was expecting police but the sound wasn’t right. It wasn’t a car engine or motorbike; it was petrol driven, I could tell that. Another loud burst from my left confirmed my thoughts. It was a chainsaw and it was nearby and I had a feeling that I knew who it was too. I hoped that I was correct in my assumptions.
I grabbed the bag and picked my way up the riverbank towards the falls. The chainsaw was deeper into the trees to my left. Stooping low, I set off in that direction. I could hear the throaty buzz growing louder as I approached a fire-break in the tree line and the smell of petrol exhaust fumes wafted in the air. I caught a glimpse of yellow moving in the trees. It was a high viz jacket. I could see the figure fetching and carrying logs and I could only hope that he was working alone. As I neared, I recognised him. It was Bryn, the farmer’s son. I felt hope rising in my guts. Bryn went everywhere on the camp-site selling his logs, riding on a 400cc quad. I doubted he would have come this far up the mountain on foot. His quad would give me a slim chance of getting off the mountain without being arrested or shot.
I skirted the fire-break so that I could approach him from behind. Sure enough, he was alone and he was wearing industrial ear-muffs to protect his hearing. He wouldn’t hear me coming until it was too late. I picked up a small log and threw it into his line of sight, wary of the deadly chainsaw in his hands. He turned to see who had thrown the log. When our eyes met, he saw the shotgun immediately and he placed the chainsaw on the damp earth. I signalled for him to take off the muffs.
“They didn’t catch you, then,” he shrugged.
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“I told him not to phone the police.”
“Who?”
“My dad,” he half smiled. “He’s an arsehole sometimes.”
“I figured that you’d called them.”
“Not me. I didn’t recognise you,” he sounded sincere. “I think what you’ve done is pretty cool. I was friendly at school with one of the boys they found in Carrog. Gwillam his name was. They only found his skull.”
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“That’s why I told him not to call them but he wasn’t having any of it,” he shrugged again. “How did you get away?”
“I ran very quickly,” I laughed sourly.
“Are they coming after you?”
“I think they’re under the impression that I’m still in my tent but as soon as they realise I'm not, they will be.”
“Take my quad,” he gestured towards the big green machine.
“That was the plan.”
“Oh!” he smiled. “I hadn’t thought that’s why you stopped here.” He blushed, embarrassed by his naivety. “Where will you go?”
“Up the mountain.”
“Have you ridden one before?”
“Only on holiday,” I thought back to a trip to Morocco years before. Two friends and I booked a four hour quad ride through the Blue Mountains. It’s not as easy as it looks. “It was a long time ago.”
“If you don’t know how to handle a quad and you go up the mountain, you’ll get caught,” he pointed towards the sheer rocks of the summit, which were just visible through the tree canopy. “I’ve been up that track thousands of times and I’ve never got across the mountain. It’s too steep at the top, even for an experienced rider.”
“Is there a way around the mountain?” I asked tiredly.
“Not without crossing the falls and you can’t do that on a quad,” he shook his head thoughtfully, “you could go down the mountain to the coast road.”
“No, they’ll have road blocks everywhere within an hour.”
“The only other trail leads back to the camp-site”
“I guess I’ll just have to take my chances at the top then,” I moved towards the quad. “Where’s the keys?”
“The keys are in it.”
“How much fuel is there?”
“Not much,” he shook his head. “I normally fill it up at night when I�
��ve done my log runs. It’ll get you ten miles or so, but you won’t make it that far going up.”
“Bollocks,” I sighed beneath my breath.
“Listen,” he stepped closer as if not to let the trees hear us. “My Nan’s place is only a few miles away down the fire-break She’s been dead for a while but my dad uses it for feeding the sheep in the winter, so he won’t get rid of the place. I could take you there and you could hide out for a while.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“Her car is still in the barn too.”
“Hallelujah,” I laughed. Maybe someone upstairs was on my side after all. “If they find me, tell them that I forced you at gunpoint.”
“I will,” he smiled. “Get on; we need to move.”
Bryn fired up the quad and with a throaty growl, the machine moved off quickly down the fire-break.
Chapter 24
As we reached the lower slopes, the trees gave way to rolling green fields. criss-crossed by grey stone walls which seemed to go on forever. In the distance, I could see Barmouth, the buildings like miniatures against the startling blue of the sea. A darker blue line on the horizon told me where the sea met the sky. The sun was falling towards the sea and as the breeze blew in my face, it was hard to think that I was the subject of a police manhunt. My thoughts ran away with me as the quad made easy going of the tracks and trails.
“This is it,” Bryn shouted over the engine noise.
A slate built farmhouse was nestled into a grassy knoll; two barns and a tall silo to the right of the ivy covered building. The fire-break ran onto a dirt track, which scythed a crescent shaped path from the track to the farm. Although it was an idyllic setting, the dark windows filled me a sense of foreboding. I had been living on my instincts for years and had my situation not been so dire, I would never have gone near the abandoned farmhouse. If I was surrounded there, it was a dead end with no way out. That aside, there was something about the farm that worried me. The breeze, which had been refreshing, now chilled me to the bone.
“Does your dad still use this place regularly?” I shouted.
“We use the silo for sheep food in the winter if it snows and he uses one of the barns to slaughter the odd sheep. Most of the animals go to market but he kills some for meat in the camp shop.”