by Jon Grahame
The corporal backed away and sat down.
Yank took up a position to the left and several feet away from Reaper, holding her gun cradled in her arms. Jenny went inside the house.
‘How many of you?’ Reaper said.
‘Three.’
Reaper spoke to Yank. ‘Check with Shirley.’ And then to the corporal, ‘Where’s Arnold?’
‘He’s in the field.’
The man moved his head sideways to indicate a nearby field.
‘Dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’
‘Why kill him? Why kill Maisie? Why kill Brian?’
‘It … got out of hand.’
‘You’re a corporal. You were in charge. You let it get out of hand.’
‘I didn’t know about the couple down the other end of the village. Not until later.’
‘Brian was naked and dead in a pigsty.’
‘That was Brannie.’ The man shrugged. ‘He has weird ideas.’
The yells and pleas for help from the man Sandra had knifed had been echoing into the garden. Abruptly, they changed to high pitched screams intermingled with the sound of a rhythmic thumping. Then they stopped.
‘What about Shirley?’ Reaper said.
‘We …’ He was at a loss. He knew there was no mitigation. He looked back towards the house and shrugged. ‘Once Brannie started, no one could have stopped him.’
‘Angel did.’
Worry showed in the man’s eyes at the use of the word Angel.
‘I’m Reaper. Have you heard of us?’
‘Yes. That’s why we were sent. Recon.’
Yank came from the house. ‘Just the three of them,’ she said.
Reaper nodded. The corporal began to shake with fear.
‘You came north because of us?’
‘We’d heard stories.’ He shrugged. ‘Daft stories. One man and a girl. The Reaper and the Angel.’
‘Well now you know they’re true. Except that it’s one man, one girl and a pair of banshees. Who sent you? Where are you from?’
‘General Purcell of the New Army, sent us. We’re from Redemption. It’s the seat of the new British Government.’
‘With Prince Harry?’
The corporal twitched. ‘That’s right. Prince Harry.’
‘A new British Government? A new army? How big is the army?’
‘I don’t know. It’s big.’
‘Be more specific.’
‘Four companies. Battalion strength.’
‘Army, RAF, Navy?’
‘Mainly Army and RAF blokes.’
‘All service personnel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have aircraft?’
‘No.’
A commotion at the house made Reaper turn around. Jenny was trying to hold onto Shirley and calm her but the small woman did not want to be placated. She broke away and ran through a gate in the hedge that led to the field where the corporal had indicated that Arnold was lying dead. Jenny went back into the house as Sandra came out and walked down the garden to them.
‘When did you get here?’ Reaper said.
‘Yesterday.’
‘You’ve done a lot of damage in twenty-four hours.’
‘It was Brannie. He was always a wild man.’
‘Are there are a lot like him in the New Army?’
‘Like Brannie? No. They’re just ordinary squaddies. Do as they’re told.’
‘Like Davy?’
‘He’s easily led.’
‘Like you?’
‘It got out of hand, I told you.’
‘Why were you sent?’
‘The General wanted to know about you.’
Shirley came back into the garden, the gate banging behind her.
‘No, Shirley,’ said Sandra, and Reaper turned.
She strode down the garden quickly, like a wraith in the stained nylon slip, Arnold’s double-barrelled shotgun in her hands. It was pointed at the corporal.
‘Shirley,’ Reaper said, but stood to one side, in case the tremble in her arms and hands transmitted itself to the triggers. ‘Don’t do this. We need information.’
‘Bastard,’ she said, ignoring everyone but the corporal.
Reaper reached to grab the gun but she pulled the triggers and discharged both barrels into the soldier’s chest, blowing him backwards off the bench.
Nobody moved. The scene became still life. Reaper could appreciate why Shirley had done what she had done but wished he had had more time to question the corporal before the inevitable sentence had been carried out.
Jenny stepped from the house with an armful of clothes for the distraught woman who dropped the shotgun and sank to the grass in tears. Sandra knelt to comfort her.
Reaper walked to the gate and looked into the field next door. Dead animals lay around. Shot for fun. For target practice. Arnold lay among his animals.
Yank was at his shoulder.
‘Shirley beat the other bastard to death with a saucepan. We didn’t like to stop her.’
Reaper nodded.
‘We’ll take her home.’
Sandra came through the gate and joined them.
‘Jenny’s finally calming her down. She’ll get her dressed.’ She noted Arnold’s body. ‘It never ends, does it.’ Then, to Reaper, ‘What did he say?’
‘They were from the new British Government. They were part of the New Army. They’d been sent to find out about us. They came from a place called Redemption.’
The three of them let the stillness of the afternoon settle over them for a moment, even though the view was of a field littered with the dead bodies of animals and the corpse of an elderly farmer. Maybe they would never find a stillness like it again.
‘So,’ said Sandra. ‘Now we go looking for Redemption.’