The Original's Return (Book 2): The Original's Retribution

by David Watkins

  Jack wasn’t sure how long had passed since that frantic escape into the night. He had knowledge of his time as a Wolf, but it was not clear: more like an ill remembered dream. How many days had he watched the sunrise?

  All of that was irrelevant. Jack had a sick feeling in his stomach, and it wasn’t due to raw meat or the cold. Despite the fact it was summer, the sun had not yet warmed the air enough for him to be comfortable, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Something had happened. Something bad.

  “There’s another one,” Jack said.

  3

  Bryant woke when the banging started. He staggered out of bed, fighting his duvet off and opened his door. Collins stood in the corridor, a concerned look on his face. The look disappeared as soon as he saw Bryant.

  “Mate, put some clothes on.”

  “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.” Bryant stood his ground.

  “You were shouting your head off. I just came to see if you were alright.”

  “Shouting?”

  “Yeah. I could hear you clearly through the walls. Sounded like you were having a fight.”

  “Christ, Collins, it’s five in the morning and you got me out of bed for that?”

  “I just wanted to check-”

  “There was no need, I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

  “Mate-”

  “Seriously, Collins,” Bryant squared his shoulders, “I’m going to struggle to get back to sleep now as it is.”

  “Sorry.” Collins looked at his feet, before turning to return to his room.

  Bryant sighed and could feel his cheeks burn. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

  Collins paused. “Anytime. I’ve got your back, remember?”

  Yeah. But this is Kent. It’s not Afghan anymore. “Hey, what was I shouting?”

  “Nothing much, really. Loads of random shit,” Collins shrugged. “Then you yelled ‘There’s another one’ at the top of your voice. That’s when I came.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but his face broke into a smile instead. “Seriously mate, put some clothes on, it’s freezing out here.”

  With that, he returned to his room, closing the door with a soft click. Bryant looked up and down the corridor, but no-one else appeared. He closed his own door softly and sat on the edge of his bed. There’s another one. What did that mean? He looked at his hand again, but it was still completely healed. Didn’t imagine it. Traces of his dream lingered at the edge of his thoughts, but he couldn’t focus on them. He could recall a hill, some trees and a river, but that was about it.

  Rain splattered against his window and he looked out. Collins has said it was freezing, but he felt fine. Too hot if anything. Afghan has made him soft. It’s not cold here. Bryant turned to switch his light off, but then, and only then, realised that he had not turned it on.

  He pulled his duvet up and closed his eyes. For the first time in months, he slept soundly.

  4

  Jack crept forward, closer to the wall surrounding the holiday cottage. No light shone from any window, but with the sun now fully visible in the sky, it would not be long before the occupants were up and about. He vaulted the wall and ran across the garden. He pulled some clothes off the washing line, picked up a pair of flip-flops and ran back the way he had come. He stopped by a wooden table that had seen better days and scooped a baseball cap off it, then jumped the wall again.

  The cottage was the only dwelling for at least two miles in any direction, which generally made people relaxed about security. The clothes had been left on the line overnight but were dry. Jack pulled on the shorts and t-shirt which were only slightly too big for him. At least the flip-flops were the right size, but he was in no position to be choosy. Once dressed, he slipped back over the wall and jogged in a half crouch to the car - a brand new Honda Civic - in the drive.

  He tried the door to the car, but it was locked. Not that relaxed then. He moved around it, looking for keys left on the tyres. They weren’t there. A flash of colour drew his attention to the back door of the property. A kid’s rucksack. SpongeBob SquarePants. It will do. Jack picked it up, a momentary pang of guilt flashing through him. In a few years, Josh would have one just like it.

  A noise behind him. The door was opening. Jack sprinted for the wall and vaulted it, landing heavily on the other side. He heard footsteps, then a child’s voice shout “it’s not there, mummy”, and the pang of guilt turned into a sledgehammer.

  He stripped off quickly and quietly and stuffed his newly acquired clothes into the bags. It was a tight fit. Jack heard the door close. I’m sorry.

  The glimpses from the barely remembered dream flashed like images in a flick book. An army base. What was Knowles up to? He’d seen signs too. Tunbridge Wells. Maidstone. Back to Kent then. The Wolf burst out of him and it looked at the bag, sniffing it before picking it up in its massive jaws. It started to run back to the moor, stretching its legs until the cottage was miles behind.

  The Wolf did not stop to admire the scenery. It didn’t allow itself to get distracted by the deer fleeing ahead of it or even the ponies over the hill to its left. It followed the scent of engine fumes, heading back towards civilisation.

  It had a long way to go.

  Chapter 4

  1

  Knowles stood to attention, waiting for the Major to start shouting. It was more disconcerting that he didn’t.

  “You didn’t have to kill him, Peter.”

  Yeah, like I didn’t need to take a shit this morning. “No sir.”

  “So why did you?”

  Knowles said nothing. The Major sighed heavily. “Sit down, Peter. Sit down and relax.” Knowles sat in the only other chair in the office. The Major had the deep tan of someone who had just returned from Afghanistan. His scared eyes matched that too.

  “Peter, I’m trying to catch up with things here, so you need to help me out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve read the file and all the notes. It’s a pretty hard thing to get your head around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ok, cut the crap, sergeant. You’re not on trial and I’m not going to bawl you out.” The Major pushed the file away from him and drummed his fingers on the desk. “We need to find Jack Stadler, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you lost him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Not that I had much choice in the matter. No point in explaining it wasn’t his fault. If Jack wanted to leave, then he was going to.

  “I gather helicopters spent the night looking for him and most of the following day.”

  “Y-”

  “But they found nothing? Not even a trail. Several of our men shot at the wolf.” The Major paused and stared out of the window. “An enormous wolf. Our men shot at an enormous wolf and either all missed or didn’t manage a kill shot. Explain that to me.”

  “I don’t think he can be killed, sir.”

  “But the others can? The other wolves died. We have about eighty of them in our morgue, being dissected as we speak. How can that be?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well, do you have any theories?”

  Knowles looked at the other man and regarded him with something less than contempt for the first time. Major Paul Raymond, roughly forty-two, so ten years more experience than Knowles. Slighter build, but very toned. He was not your typical desk Major. He couldn’t be more different to Smith.

  “Sir, during the attack, I spoke with one of the wolves, a man calling himself Callum.”

  Raymond nodded. “He was the first we looked at. No history on him at all. No trace of the man in any database, here or overseas.”

  “I think he was their leader. He called Jack ‘an Original’.”

  “Yes, and what’s that?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well did you ask him?”

  “No, I shot him after he killed two of our people.” Claire. Knowles couldn’t remember the young private’s name,
could barely remember his face. Claire Biddlestone, however, was etched on his memory. Her blank stare after Callum ripped her throat out was something he would take to his own grave.

  “Do you think these Originals are different to the others?”

  “Yes sir, I do. Also, I think Jack is the only one.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They took a big risk attacking our base, sir. They must have known they would take heavy losses.” Knowles winced as he said it. Heavy losses didn’t quite cover the shocking loss of life on that day: a square in an army base covered with bodies. It had started with two men from the guard post and ended with two helicopter gunships shooting the base to pieces. All base personnel dead. A huge number of the wolves dead. Knowles the only human survivor. The worst day of his life.

  “They were rescuing one of their own.”

  “Sir, with respect, would you do that? If we lost someone, knew they were in the mountains with the rest of Al-Qaeda, what would we do? Would we storm in?”

  Raymond shrugged and waved his hand at Knowles. Carry on.

  “No, Jack was special to them. Callum said as much before it kicked off.”

  “What did Stadler say to you?”

  “Nothing. He had no idea.”

  “He was fooling you, Peter.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Knowles said. “I think that whatever happened to Jack in that cave was an accident. I don’t think he wanted any of this.”

  “So why did he run away?”

  It was Knowles’ turn to shrug. “He only just got to his wife in time. He saved her, then legged it.”

  “But we could have helped him.”

  “No sir, Major Smith was all for dissecting Jack. He wasn’t interested in curing him.”

  “Well, Smith isn’t here to defend that accusation, Peter, so I think we’ll keep it between us.”

  Yeah, ok then. “So, what now, sir?”

  “Well, we need to double our efforts to find Jack Stadler. That’s our first priority. Secondly, we need to find out just how many of these wolf things there are on our lands.”

  “And kill them, sir? Kill them all?”

  Raymond nodded. “Yes. They represent an unparalleled risk to the security of this nation.”

  Good.

  “Thirdly, we need to clean up the mess with that reporter.” Raymond pressed a button on his desk. “Send him in.”

  Knowles turned and stood as another man entered the room. He was the same height as Knowles, but much stockier. His face was hard, and his eyes black.

  “Peter, this is Sergeant Jamie Bryant.” The two men shook hands. “He is now working with you on everything to do with the wolves. You will give him a full briefing and the two of you will jointly head up a task force, the mission of which will be to find Jack Stadler. Any wolves you find along the way are to be eliminated. We are not interested in prisoners. We want them gone. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” said Bryant.

  “Yes, sir,” said Knowles.

  “Before you do that, I want that journalist taken care of.”

  “Sir, after we tasered him, we gave him enough sedative to keep him out cold for twenty-four hours. It would have wiped his short term memory too. He woke on a park bench, probably thinking he’d been on a mad bender. He’s not a problem.”

  “I hate loose ends, sergeant. Dismissed.”

  2

  “So you met Stadler?” Bryant asked. They were sitting in the mess, two mugs of tea steaming between them. Bryant sat with his chair at an angle to the table, slouched with his legs crossed. Knowles sat upright opposite him, his hands on the table.

  “Yeah. I was assigned to watch him. Thought you’d read the file?”

  “I have,” Bryant smirked, a natural look on his tanned face. “I know how much you fucked up.”

  “I didn’t. You have no idea.”

  “You had him in custody. You flew him to Devon.” Bryant spread his hands. “He escaped. You’re lucky to still have your stripes.”

  “Have you met any of these wolves?”

  Bryant shook his head.

  “Then you have no idea what you are talking about,” Knowles laughed at Bryant. “This isn’t some sweaty Arab hoping you’ll walk into his IED or sniper scope. These things will rip you apart before you get a shot off.”

  “You managed it.”

  “I was lucky.” Images of his dead friends sprang to mind, and he swallowed hard. I am not going to cry in the mess hall. “Very lucky.”

  “How? Why you?”

  “That is a pointless question and you know it. You were in Ghanners right?”

  “Yeah, but we don’t call it that anymore.”

  “No? What do you call it?”

  “Afghanistan,” Bryant said with a straight face.

  “Fair one. But you lost people right? You know, every time, it could have been you. Maybe a few times it should have been you.”

  Bryant said nothing, but Knowles could tell from the look on his face that the other man knew what he talking about.

  “Do you want me to take care of the journalist?”

  Knowles shook his head. “He wrote a blog about three blokes jumping him and nicking his source. Our tech boys were all over it. They posted about thirty reports slating the guy, saying he was full of shit. Each of the posts were from Facebook accounts that can be linked to real people’s accounts.”

  “How does that work?”

  “How should I know? I can barely turn a computer on. I think there must be desperate people out there who just say yes to everyone who sends them a friend request.” Knowles shrugged. “It helps it go viral. Simon Foster is no longer a problem.”

  “So, what do we do next?”

  “We need to find out just how many more of these wolves there are.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “Get out there and look,” Knowles said. “Scan police radios, look at press reports. There will be odd events - we go take a look.”

  “And then what? We round them up?” Bryant snorted. “Keep them in some kind of ghetto?”

  Knowles looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “No. You heard the Major. We kill them. We kill them all.”

  3

  Bryant sat in his car, watching the rain pour down the windscreen. The darkness outside combined with the rain to make him shiver, even though he was in the dry. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Come on, where are you?

  He had left Knowles as quickly as he could after their conversation. The man had the look of a zealot, eyes shiny as he spoke. Bryant understood where he was coming from, but did that really justify genocide? He didn’t want to think about where that left him.

  Footsteps near his door made him look up. The shuffling figure of Simon Foster walked past. Bryant clambered out of the car, slamming his door shut. Foster turned, surprise etched on his face. He met Bryant’s eyes and carried on walking, albeit a little quicker now. Bryant could smell the fear emanating from the man and his heart beat a little faster.

  “Hey,” he shouted. “Simon Foster?”

  That got his attention. Foster stopped and looked at Bryant. His belly hung over his waistline in what Bryant’s ex-wife would have called a ‘muffin top’.

  “Do I know you?”

  Bryant shook his head. “I have something you need.”

  Foster laughed. “You have a way to stop the trolls spamming my website? Good luck, buddy,” he started to turn away again.

  “I can stop them.”

  “How?” Foster snorted. “Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Jamie Bryant. I’m a sergeant in the army. My current assignment is of great interest to you.”

  “Did he send you?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who took my source away. Made him disappear. Did he send you?”

  “I have no idea who you are talking about.” Knowles. Too blatant. The trail is a mile wide.

  “What do you wa
nt Mr. Bryant?”

  “The army is conducting operations in this country that I believe are of interest to the general public. I think they are taking risks with people’s lives. Unnecessary risks.”

  He could see he had Foster’s attention now.

  “You’d better come up then.”

  Foster opened the door to the block of flats they were standing outside. Bryant followed him into an entrance hall that had seen better days. Paint flaked off the walls, and the strip lighting made it look as desperate as a Soho nightclub at 4 am. Bryant scanned the corners of the room and a satisfied grunt escaped his lips.

  “What’s that?” Foster asked. The grunt had clearly been louder than Bryant had intended.

  “Nothing. Thought you’d live somewhere nicer is all.”

  “This is just a stepping stone. The flats are nice, just the management company don’t care for the bits we pay them to maintain. I’ve complained-”

  “I don’t really give a shit,” Bryant said.

  “Oh,” Foster looked embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s through here.”

  His flat was on the ground floor. They went through a solid looking door with additional two locks and entered Foster’s home. Bryant closed the door behind him and quietly engaged both locks.

  4

  He smashed the top of his alarm clock hard enough to hurt his hand, but still the ringing persisted. Phone, dumbarse. He swung his legs out of bed and reached for his jeans. They were in a crumpled heap on the floor next to his bed. His t-shirt lay next to them. Not like me. He fumbled in his pockets until he found the phone. Knowles’ name flashed at him and he clicked the green button.

  “Yeah?”

  “Bryant? I’ve been calling for half an hour.”

  “What?”

  “We have a situation. We’ve got wolves in London.”

  “What? Wait, what?”