The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  There had been no heaven and no hell for him, just an endless plain of desert landscape to traverse. But he had refused to give up or give in. He knew that there was a way back somewhere if only he could hold on long enough.

  The resurrection had taken its toll on his body and he had been initially less than pleased to discover himself in the form of a teenage boy.

  Apparently resurrection was not an exact science and one didn’t get to choose the returning vessel.

  The form that he now occupying had been the only one compatible and available at the time.

  The child’s parents had been willing disciples of the religion that had brought him back. They had sacrificed their only son and opened the door to enable him to walk through and back onto this plane.

  He knew that his new masters had great plans for him, but he had his own agenda and cared little for their vision.

  He had to pay them lip service but he figured that it was small price to pay for coming back from beyond the veil to wreak bloody vengeance. T

  he cosmos was a strange place indeed, but he was used to turning situations to his advantage. A handsome teenage boy inside an exclusive school with all of tomorrow’s movers and shakers could do some major damage.

  He didn’t begin to try and pretend that he understood the vagaries of the powers of the universe, he was just glad to be back. Ravenhill was a substantial power cell to be mined and exploited.

  From here, he could affect the minds of the children that would become the leaders of tomorrow. He would develop an army of followers to do his bidding from the corridors of power and influence.

  All he needed were his 12 sacrifices to foot the bill; until then he was stuck within Ravenhill’s walls, unable to leave.

  It was a small price to pay, especially when it was in the blood of others.

  He wished that he could just slit 12 sleeping throats but that wasn’t the way. 12 deaths had to occur as a result of his influence and not his hand.

  He could only pull the strings and make the puppets dance - there always had to be an element of free will involved. He had nine in the bag so far and the other three would soon fall, of that he was certain.

  He missed his small town nestling under its sunny blue sky; everything had been perfect for generations until his own arrogance had brought them all down.

  He had chosen the British couple to be brought to Eden but he hadn’t seen the warning signs.

  Everything had been going to plan; the new couple were happy in the town and at work and Emily had fallen pregnant. Her blood would have renewed the soil for another hundred years of prosperity, but she had been strong - too strong to not look behind the wizard’s curtain.

  He had thought that Michael’s profession of being a writer would have left his mind scattered in the clouds; instead, it had been a keen investigative tool - razor sharp and effective.

  In the end though, it had been their love for each other that had brought the town crashing down -their resolve to fight, kill and even die for each other that had left Eden in ruins.

  He knew that they were still somewhere in the world, blissfully happy with their child and unaware that Tolan was back. He knew that he should be above petty revenge especially now that he had a world to conquer, but they were never far from his thoughts.

  As soon as he had fulfilled his duties to the gods and Ravenhill, he was going to use every ounce of his strength and power to exert terrible and bloody vengeance upon his enemies.

  He looked down to see that his clenched palms were leaking with blood as his nails dug deeply into his flesh.

  He tried to relax his mind with thoughts of his duties here. He was still a servant to the higher powers and he knew that his position was tenuous; his position was only temporary until he proved himself capable.

  Personal desires would have to wait; after all, he had already waited 10 years - what were another few months when he had eternity?

  ----------

  Brendon felt the world spinning out of control as he flew backwards through the air, propelled by tremendous strength.

  He was a large man and looked up, expecting to see some great hulking brute towering above him; he was shocked to see a small rotund woman wearing a pink tabard.

  The ceiling stretched up high and the huge hall was full of tables and neatly stacked chairs.

  He had visited the school several times but he hadn’t been given the full tour. He remembered that this was the dining hall where they had held services due to the large nature of the room.

  His thoughts were interrupted as the dinner lady brought a meat cleaver down hard towards his head.

  He barely managed to roll out of the way before the shiny blade gouged a large wedge from the wooden floor. He’d already had two old women try and kill him in the past couple of days and it was getting to be a bit of a habit.

  He rolled to his side and back to his feet in an almost smooth movement just as he heard a scuffle behind him as Donald was struggling with his own elderly assassin.

  “Look lady,” he said, holding his hands out to show that he meant no harm, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She stared back at him with a blankness to her expression that chilled him to the bone.

  Her eyes were dead and devoid of humanity as she plucked the meat cleaver from the floor.

  She hefted its weight and started to move towards him with menace.

  His warning now sounded empty and ridiculous to his ears as he backed away. He could hear Donald rolling on the floor with another of the pensioners from hell but he didn’t dare risk look in the sergeant’s direction. The woman swiped the cleaver through the air and he heard its whistle as he swayed backwards, keeping out of range. The woman’s face contorted into a smile, but it was far from pleasant.

  “Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain: let all the inhabitants of the land tremble: for the day of the LORD cometh, for it is nigh at hand,” she said through her gentle smile.

  “Joel, Chapter 2, verse 1,” he replied, puzzled to be quoted at.

  “A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong; there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations,” she continued.

  “A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the Garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them,” he finished.

  The woman stared at him with her head cocked to one side as though she was unsure of what to do next.

  His knowledge of the bible seemed to throw her into confusion and he took advantage.

  He’d had one woman try to poison him and another try to claw his eyes out; now this one was trying to take his damn head off with a meat cleaver.

  He really wasn’t in the mood for any of this.

  He stepped forward into her confusion and punched her full in the face. He felt disgust in his guts as her nose crumpled beneath his meaty fist and she sagged to the floor.

  “Look upon mine affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins,” he quoted sadly.

  He turned to the sounds of Donald’s struggle and rushed over. The sergeant was entangled with a dinner lady of his own. The woman was sat astride him and raining blows down on him with some kind of wooden kitchen mallet.

  He grabbed her arms and dragged her backwards. The woman started kicking and writhing like a wild animal and, despite outweighing her by some distance and towering over her, he struggled to maintain his grip as she bucked beneath him.

  “Donald?” he yelled, “Donald? Do something, I can’t hold her.”

  The elderly sergeant dragged himself up on shaky legs. Brendon could see that he was battered and bruised - first from the car crash and then from the assault.

  “Sorry, love,” Donald said as he dropped a knee onto the squirming woman’s face. Brendon let he
r arms go as he felt her go limp. His stomach churned; he had no taste for violence whatever the circumstances, even when it came to self-preservation.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Donald wheezed as he looked at the two downed women.

  Brendon could only shrug in reply with his hands on his knees for support as his heart pounded at double speed; it wasn’t a good sign for such a heavy man. “Give me a minute,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Are you alright, Father?” Donald asked concerned. “You look a little green.”

  “Just need to catch my breath,” he whispered as he sought to calm his nerves and slow his pulse back to normal levels.

  He knew that he was approaching the red zone for overweight people and, if nothing else, this whole episode ought to act as a wakeup call for his diet.

  He waddled towards the kitchen area to grab a glass of water.

  They seemed to be alone in the huge dining hall, save for the two women in pink tabards lying helpless on the floor.

  Now that he had time to think, he was suddenly struck by the feeling of unease permeating throughout the school. The outwardly burning hate that he felt upon their approach was now palpable in the air. They were not wanted here and they had no place as far as Ravenhill was concerned, but he couldn’t leave.

  His faith was strong and his desire to help those in need ran through the very central core of his being.

  He ran a cup under the tap and drank the cool water and slowly felt a little more in control.

  “I don’t like this, Father,” Donald said as he joined him in the kitchen. “As the old saying goes - it’s a little too quiet. Where is everyone? And if we find them are they going to be as nuts as the greeting party?”

  Brendon shuddered at the thought of having to defend themselves against small children.

  He could barely bring himself to believe that he had struck an elderly volunteer woman; he couldn’t picture himself striking a child, no matter what the circumstances.

  “Honestly, Sergeant, I have no idea,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know what I expected to find here, but there are still children around here somewhere and we have to find them. Why don’t you make sure that our two friends over there are still breathing? Wait a minute,” he said as he started rummaging through drawers and cupboards. “Here use this,” he said, throwing a nylon washing line that he found in a drawer.

  Donald took it and set about securing the women.

  Brendon plucked a knife from the counter top and turned it over in his hands.

  The blade glistened in the soft light and he hated the cold feel of the steel against his skin. A part of him knew that if they were going to help anybody then they needed to be alive to do so, and yet could he really harm a child, no matter what condition the child was in?

  He didn’t hear the walk-in pantry door open softly behind him or the footsteps emerge. He was still holding the knife, deep in thought, when he caught the reflection in the blade.

  As he turned towards the shadow he heard a scream that, instead of coming from behind him, came from the balcony that ran above the dining hall.

  “NOOOOOOO!” the voice shrieked as he turned.

  The figure ran full pelt into him as he moved to face the onrushing shadow as it burst forth from the pantry.

  He still held the knife innocently in his hands and there was a large whoosh of air as it plunged into the figure’s chest.

  He looked down in shock as his hands became slick with blood and the figure sank to the floor, still impaled on the large butcher’s knife.

  The world moved in slow motion as he heard running footsteps move from above to below as the screamer charged down into the dining hall. But all he could see was the young girl lying on the floor desperately trying to breathe.

  Her lungs were wet and raspy as she spat a fine crimson mist into the air. Tears spilled from his eyes as he knelt and took her hand.

  Absently he noted that his trousers were starting to soak through at the knee as she leaked her life all over the kitchen’s tiled floor. She looked like a child lying beneath him as her eyes were confused and full of panic as she struggled to catch her breath.

  His entire body shook as his eyes cast downwards and he saw the unmistakable large swelling of a heavily pregnant woman. She was obviously older than her angelic and rapidly paling face suggested.

  “Oh Jesus, what did you do?” a panting woman said from behind as the screamer joined him.

  “I couldn’t help it; God forgive me, I didn’t mean to,” he sobbed as he felt the grip of the girl’s hand begin to ebb away. “God in heaven, forgive me,” he wept.

  “Jemima? Jemima?” Sarah said as she knelt down beside both him and her dying friend.

  The knife still protruded from Jemima’s chest and there was a dark blood puddle spreading outwards from underneath her prone body. The air was thick with a distinctive acrid copper taste. Her expression was full of shock and disorientation as though she was just returning to herself at the very last moment.

  “Sarah?” Jemima said weakly, barely above a whisper.

  “I’m here, Jem,” Sarah replied as she took her friend’s hand from the priest.

  “What’s happening? I can’t breathe,” she said hoarsely before she began to cough violently.

  “Shush now,” Sarah said kindly as she stroked Jemima’s brow.

  “We have to call an ambulance, a doctor, something,” Donald said as he joined them on the floor.

  “There’s no time,” Sarah said gently to everyone listening. She continued to stroke her friend’s head with a loving hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jemima said as she faded away. “I’m so, so…” And then she was gone.

  Brendon broke down completely as the young teacher died. He wept loudly as his huge body was wracked with great gulps of sorrow and guilt. He had taken the life of a pregnant woman and his own life was now forfeit. He wore a collar of the Lord and had pledged his life in his service, but now he was an empty shell of a man.

  The sudden sound of the slap echoed off the walls.

  “We haven’t got time for that, Father,” Sarah said roughly. “She’s number 10 and he’s only got two more to go.”

  “What about the baby?” Donald asked in a tiny voice as he looked down at the body. “I mean, she looks like she was due any day now; what do we do about that?”

  Brendon looked up as the sergeant spoke. He glanced around to the American teacher whom he recognised from his services at the school and saw that there was also another pupil standing back in the shadows looking on in shock and horror.

  “The baby,” he muttered as he looked down at the dead woman.

  He tried to remember some of his medical knowledge from his times as a missionary. He had seen women give birth in the deepest darkest recesses of foreign jungles. He had even witnessed a couple of crude caesarean operations with sharpened stone tools.

  “Does anyone have any idea about what we can do?” Sarah demanded in an authoritative voice.

  “I might,” Brendon said, wiping his eyes and swallowing hard. “But whatever we try, we have to do it fast.”

  “Wait a minute, you can’t be serious? Since when did you get your medical degree?” Donald snapped.

  “If we do nothing then that baby is going to die,” Sarah said bluntly. “There’s no way to call for help because of the weather and even if there was, there’s no way for them to get here in time.”

  “Ok, get me as many towels as you can find and the sharpest knife that’s around,” Brendon said, fighting the waves of nausea washing through his stomach.

  “What about that one?” Sarah said, pointing at the blade protruding out of Jemima’s chest.

  “Oh sweet Jesus,” Donald said as Brendon gritted his teeth and pulled the knife free.

  “You have to be brave, Father,” Sarah said, touching him lightly on the shoulder as she stood back from the body. “We can’t afford to let that baby die; he’s only got two
to go now and we haven’t got any time left to play with.”

  “What are you talking about?” Donald asked as he failed to understand her meaning and the cop part of his brain kicked in.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Sarah replied firmly. “Just keep that baby alive; that’s your job now - watch the Father’s back and save the child.”

  “And where are you going?” The sergeant demanded tersely.

  “To try and end this before it’s too late,” she answered.

  “Isn’t it already too late for that?” Brendon asked as he looked down at his bloodstained hands.

  Sarah left the room with Alex in tow and without answering.

  ----------

  Maurice led the way through the underbelly of Ravenhill.

  Several times he thought that they were hopelessly lost, but every time he soon turned a corner that felt familiar again. The young PC followed behind him without much of a sound, save for the occasional moan or whimper.

  The catacombs were dark and full of hidden eyes. He could feel their hard gazes as he passed by, desperately not wanting to disturb their slumber.

  He hated being here and wanted nothing more than to slink back to his cottage and hide until it was all over and the new owner of Ravenhill was installed.

  His job was to serve at the master’s feet, whoever they may be. But he still had a nagging touch of conscience hidden somewhere down deep inside.

  His grandfather had been full of tales of Ravenhill and its power, but his father had been a good man who had lived in the moment and he was starting to wish that he had listened to his father more.

  “Gramps’” presence was still strong within these walls but his father’s was dim and distant like a low wattage bulb.

  ----------

  Stuart snuck his way carefully through the long hallways, creeping towards Barnaby’s office. Every now and then he heard approaching footsteps and hid in the shadows until they had gone.

  Occasionally, he heard the small voices of his pupils and ran from the sounds. He was a practical man by nature, a mathematician who lived within the confines of structure and order.