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

by David Watkins

  Her heart started hammering, but she forced herself to read on.

  Wilson had praised the soldier, saying that without his actions, more people could have been hurt. Peter Knowles. His name was Peter Knowles. Katie gave a shout of excitement, then tapped his name into the search engine.

  There were approximately eleven million results for Peter Knowles.

  2

  She hit the laptop in frustration, then composed herself. She knew she didn’t want to read about footballers, whether they were Jehovah’s Witnesses or not, so she refined the search and typed in ‘Peter Knowles UK army’.

  The first hit was now Forces’ War Records. That was protected by a pay wall so she returned to her search. She found other sites that promised to give the information, but again, only if she paid. Others said that no current serving records would be made public. Obvious, really, but frustrating all the same.

  Next she tried Facebook, but again there were millions of Peter Knowles on record and most of them hadn’t done anything more interesting than eat toast for breakfast or share a positive message about the world. Typical Facebook crap. Were soldiers even allowed to be on Facebook?

  She didn’t know. There was so much about finding people she didn’t know. Maybe she should hire a professional – there must be a private detective somewhere in Exeter or maybe Plymouth. She was saved from googling that by Josh waking with his usual insistent crying.

  The phone rang as she picked him up and she ignored it, letting the answering machine kick in instead. It was Karen, calling to insist that she go for another run. She would be there in half an hour.

  3

  Despite her intentions and vow to herself, the woods were too close to her house to ignore as a place to run. Katie set off and knew she was running too fast. The path went downhill, going deeper into the woods. Her breathing became ragged and she could feel her legs burning already. She forced herself to slow down. Thick trees combined to make the day seem darker, grimmer somehow, despite the sunlight. She fell into a rhythm, already feeling the frustration of the morning dissipate. The ground passed swiftly and comfortably underfoot and, before she realised, she was running up the hill in the middle of the woods. The hill worked against her, slowing her further, so she gritted her teeth and accelerated until she reached the summit.

  Katie waited there, not breathing hard anymore but sweating slightly. She looked back down the hill, which looked even steeper from her vantage point. Making progress. The view was pleasant here, not stunning or spectacular like lots of places in Devon, but it still beat looking at a skyline of a city. To her left, in the periphery of her vision, something yellow fluttered on the breeze. She glanced over at it and realised it was the hole in the ground, still taped off with warning signs. What happened Jack? What really happened?

  There were no easy answers waiting there for her, so she ran on, getting back to the entrance in her best time since starting running again. Without thinking, she carried on past the entrance, running back down the path and starting another loop.

  By the time Katie had finished the extra loop, the sweat was pouring from her and she was panting. Her legs had felt the effort going up the hill the second time and she was grateful when the gate came back into view.

  She climbed into her car, opened all the windows and drove home. By the time she reached the house, her breathing was back to normal.

  4

  Karen was cuddling Josh, pulling faces at him and making silly noises. She shook her head, making her cheeks wobble and Josh laugh. Katie smiled at them whilst she took her trainers off.

  “He is so gorgeous, Katie.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He was bound to be, with you as his mum. You’re looking hot, girl.”

  “I am. Hard run.”

  “Ho ho, funny girl. That’s not what I meant.”

  Katie smiled at her friend. She had never been very good at accepting compliments, a hang up from her awkward teenage years with short, spiky, blue hair. It had been a good look. Maybe.

  “You mind if I shower?”

  “No, carry on. I’ve got nothing planned today. Me and the little man were just having some fun.” She shook her head again, drawing another laugh from Josh. “I’ll get the kettle on.”

  5

  Sipping tea, with a pint glass of water next to her, Katie sank into the sofa. It would need replacing soon, but for now it moulded perfectly to her body. Karen had the TV on, so they watched mindless daytime shows for a while, chatting happily. The news came on, full of the usual human misery and then the local news. The third item made Katie sit up straight.

  “Oh my God, it’s Jack,” she cried.

  Karen looked up from Josh. The picture on the screen was of the prisoner who had escaped from Dartmoor a couple of days ago. The report said that the man had been found running away from a lorry at a checkpoint. The driver gave a short interview where he said that the prisoner had jumped him and forced him to drive to London. The driver, a bald man carrying too much weight, was sweating and looked like he was about to have a heart attack. The brief interview finished, and the news anchor talked over a sketch of the escaped prisoner.

  Karen looked at the drawing on screen. “It can’t be honey, he’s-”

  “Don’t say it,” Katie warned.

  “You need to face up to this, Katie, sweetheart. It’s destroying you.”

  Katie didn’t say anything. She pressed rewind on the television and then paused it at the picture of the prisoner. “Look at him. It’s Jack.”

  Karen took in all the details of the prisoner: long hair, mountain man beard, dark circles under his eyes and tried to marry that with the smiling picture of Jack on the wall. In that photograph, he was holding Katie, both of them grinning from ear to ear: their wedding day.

  “Katie, please, honey,” she started, but then realised that Katie was crying.

  “It looks nothing like him does it?”

  Karen shook her head slowly.

  “Oh God, I’m seeing him everywhere.”

  Karen moved closer and patted her friend's shoulder, a manoeuvre made more difficult by Josh. He reached his arms out, and Katie took him. She kissed his forehead lots of times, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “You will get through this,” Karen said.

  “It hurts. Every day, it hurts.”

  “It will get better.”

  “When? How do you know?”

  “You can’t put a timescale on these things. You know that.”

  “It’s been months, Karen, and it still feels like he should walk in, complaining about work,” Katie said. “Sometime, I miss hearing just how shit year ten have been today.”

  “We’re here for you, Katie, me and John. Anything we can do, we’re here.”

  Katie tried to smile but failed. “I’m lucky to have you. I’m sorry.”

  “No need for apologies, you’d do the same for me.”

  Now Katie did succeed in smiling.

  “I’ll make us some lunch,” Karen said, “and then we’ll take the little man for a walk, get some air.”

  “I’ve had lots of air already.”

  “I know. I was going to steer us to the pub.”

  6

  Later, when Josh was in his cot and fast asleep, Katie poured a large glass of wine and opened the laptop again. She didn’t need the drink, having had several glasses earlier, but it made her feel better. Best be careful with that. She searched the news websites, scanning them for details of the escaped prisoner on Dartmoor. Most of them had nothing, or if they did, the story was already buried under the weight of news delivered that day. Eventually, she found a piece hidden between a story about hundreds of people taking part in a river swim and some photographs of an otter on the BBC Devon website.

  Katie clicked on the image of the prisoner to enlarge it. Using her hands, she covered the long hair and beard, focussing on the eyes. The dark circles made it hard to clearly see them, but they were Jack’s eyes – o
f that she was certain. She read the story. The man had tried to run and he’d been shot. He was now at an undisclosed location under armed guard whilst he recovered. The police had issued a statement thanking the public for their diligence and announcing that they were now safe.

  Several things about the article bugged Katie and it took her a moment to realise what it was. First, no-one was named. The prisoner was nameless as was the truck driver who had picked up the dangerous man. Wouldn’t he be hailed as a hero now? The reason was obvious, now she thought about it: the driver now couldn’t be traced. Second, this was supposedly a dangerous man on Dartmoor. Wouldn’t that be on the national news? There should be reporters everywhere on Dartmoor, but she could only find this one tiny article.

  “He is alive,” she said.

  Chapter 18

  1

  They stopped for clothes, stealing them from a washing line. None of them fitted Sally, so they stopped at a shop advertising itself as clothes for the larger frame. They left a poor girl quivering in the stock room before they took clothes for the big woman. Jack insisted they only took one outfit. He also made a mental note of the shop.

  Two cars were stolen: one in Tunbridge Wells and the next in East Grinstead. Jack had never been to East Grinstead before and intended to never go again.

  Sally sat in the passenger seat, Michael and Jack in the back. The other man, Scott, drove. They were crawling around the M25.

  “We should get off here as soon as possible,” Michael said. “They will be looking for us.”

  “They don't know we're in this car,” Jack said.

  “It’s only a matter of time before it is reported stolen,” Michael said.

  “Where’re we going?” Scott asked. “Are we meeting the others in London?”

  Michael shook his head, then said, “No. The packs of London are not what they were. Something to do with our new friend here.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Jack said and was immediately disappointed with how petulant he sounded.

  “Callum used to run London,” Michael said. “It was his town. Now he’s gone.” He didn't finish the sentence, just shrugged.

  “Everyone has scattered, gone into hiding,” Sally said. “Maybe we could unite them all.”

  Michael shook his head. “No, leave them. If they survived then they are cowards who ran away or cowards who did not go with Callum to rescue Jack. Either way, they are no use to us.”

  “It was a bloodbath,” Jack said. He remembered the scene, the aftermath of the helicopter attacks on the pack of wolves. The army was probably still cleaning up and trying to identify people from the body parts. Far too many people died that day.

  “So where are we going?” Scott asked again.

  “I think we should go abroad,” Michael said. “It’s far easier to disappear on the continent. I lived there for years without any problems and without going hungry.”

  “West,” Jack said.

  Michael looked at him with eyebrows raised. “The army will find us if we stay here Jack.”

  “I want to see my family.”

  “Don't they think you're dead?” Michael said. “That’s what Bryant said.”

  “They do. I want to see them; they don't need to see me.”

  “What about Bryant?” Sally asked.

  Michael scowled. “Bryant has made his choice.”

  “Wait, you know Bryant?” Jack said. He was feeling uncomfortable, and it wasn't just the casual stealing that had happened that morning. Something about Michael seemed off. A few years of teaching had given Jack an inbuilt sense of people: who was trustworthy and who was not.

  “No, we met him,” Michael smiled. “Briefly.”

  “When did you meet him?”

  “You taking the piss?”

  Jack looked more confused. The sudden aggression increased his discomfort.

  “Michael.” It was all Sally needed to say and the cloud in Michael’s expression disappeared.

  “I’ve been unconscious for I don't know how long. They were going to cut me open.”

  “I apologise, Jack. I had no idea.” Michael had a large grin back in place.

  “We met Bryant in a service station,” Sally said. “He turned his back on us.”

  “He has no idea of his power, of what he can do,” Michael said.

  “He wants my help,” Jack said. “If Bryant turned his back on you, then maybe it’s because he can't control it yet.” The man is a killer. If he rejected them, why haven't I?

  “With just you at our head, we could rule the country. With both of you-” Michael said, not finishing his sentence, but there was a gleam in his eyes.

  Jack swallowed hard. “I heard that before,” he said.

  “Callum?”

  Jack nodded. Michael waved his hand dismissively.

  “He was an idiot.”

  Sally snorted. “He banished you, and now he’s an idiot.”

  “Sally, I do not remember speaking to you.”

  The fat woman blanched and looked out of the window.

  “Why did he banish you?” Jack’s heart was beating faster now. Even Callum wanted nothing to do with him either. Shit. Jack had met Callum for no more than ten minutes, but it had been enough.

  “He didn't banish me,” Michael said, “I had to leave the country for a while.”

  “That doesn't really answer my question.”

  “I killed some people. Callum didn't like it.” Michael shrugged: no big deal.

  “Who did you kill?”

  “Couple I found dogging in a car park. Three blokes wanking off whilst they were sat in the car.” He smiled at the memory. “I changed their definition of dogging that night.”

  He killed five people in one night. Christ.

  “How was I supposed to know that one of the wankers was a peer with a seat in the House of Lords?” Michael chuckled. “He did taste good though, more tender than the normal folk.”

  Jack fell silent as they swallowed up the miles. What the hell am I doing?

  2

  “Stop here,” Jack said. Scott pulled over outside a garage. They were at a crossroads. The garage dominated the left-hand side of the road, with a large forecourt and big workshop behind it. Two cars on the forecourt had 'for sale' signs hanging on them. The main road ran uphill away from the garage, and the street in front of it led into the village.

  “So, this is your village? You lived here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Christ, no wonder you left.”

  “It’s a nice place.”

  “Sure. What do you do for entertainment when you’re not shagging your sister?”

  “Really, Michael?”

  “Relax. Just kidding. How is wanking with six fingers?”

  Jack ignored him. “There’s a couple of pubs and a shop up there.” He gestured to the road on the left.”

  “Well that’s just awesome, Jack,” Michael smirked.

  “My house is just down there,” he said, pointing down the street opposite the car and garage.

  “What now?” Michael asked.

  “I just want to see them.”

  “So you said, but this is a bad idea.” He looked at Sally. “Maybe we should do a pub crawl?”

  Jack got out of the car, pulling a hood over his head and walking to the top of his road with head bowed. People were moving around in the garage, but he didn't think they'd pay any attention to him and he was moving away from it. He hurried over the main road and stood at the top of his street. An unexpected lump came to his throat. It’s just a street Jack. It’s the people in it who are important.

  He could now see his house. The porch looked in need of dire repair, and the front bedroom window had polythene strapped across it. He winced at the memory.

  A car emerged from the driveway next to his house. Katie looked both ways, eased out and then turned away from him, accelerating down the street. The lump intensified.

  Jack turned and jogged back to the car and
jumped in. “I have to go to the woods.”

  “How far is that?” Scott asked, looking at the petrol gauge.

  “I can run.”

  “Jack,” Michael started.

  “No, just leave it, Michael. I am doing this. Stay here.” He slammed the door shut and ran back across the road. A small path, almost invisible from the road, led through to the fields that ran behind Jack’s street. He jogged down the path, jumping the fence easily. The fields stretched as far as the eye could see, and disused paths ran to the woods. Katie had been wearing running kit, and he was fairly sure that was where she was headed.

  As soon as he crossed the first field, the tree line swallowed him up. He quickly undressed and stashed his clothes behind a large tree. Then he changed and set off for the woods at a furious pace.

  3

  Katie ran, despite the lingering hangover. She was already getting stronger, could feel it in her legs and lungs, but was still wary of overdoing it. Get to the stage where this run is easy, then up the miles.

  It was four o'clock and the woods were deserted. She didn't mind: no people meant no-one looking at her in sympathy or muttering about her.

  The problem with living in a small village was everyone knew her and what she had been through, regardless of whether she actually knew them. Just going to the shop had turned into a gauntlet of curtain twitching. At least the streets are usually quiet.

  She reached the bottom of the hill – the one Karen had already dubbed Cardio Hill - then gritted her teeth and pushed herself to run up it as fast as she could. The police tape blurred by and she studiously ignored it. With a roar, she crested the hill and stopped running, hands on knees panting. It felt good.

  A twig snapped behind her and she turned to look. The tree line was dark, even though the sun was beating down. All was quiet. No birds. There are no birds singing here.

  Her heart was beating fast now, faster than just because of the run.

  More sounds of sticks breaking came from the tree line, but she didn't move. It'll be a deer.

  Even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew it wasn't true and she knew she had to run.