Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1)

by Arnot, Tim

  West! She remembered it was west. Well, the railway went west, so she would follow the tracks. Flick tied the bag and the bow onto her bike, and had a last look around to make sure she hadn’t left anything, and then she went.

  She worked her way through the woodland along the base of the ridge, picking up speed as the trees opened up to a narrow track, and when a second track split off to the right, she took it, and was soon racing along between wide hedgerows. So far she had not seen or heard anyone.

  The disused railway was at the top of a steep embankment, covered in bushes and brambles, but by working her way along, she was able to find a lower section that didn’t require her to climb up it or get even more scratched.

  She knew there had originally been two tracks on this section of the railway, bedded onto ballast. They had long gone of course, scavenged for the steel, but the track bed was still there, overgrown, but used as a thoroughfare by people that wanted to stay away from the roads.

  A few miles along the track, it dawned on her that this was too easy. She had made good progress, but the track was pretty flat and almost straight, allowing any pursuers to see her from a long way back, and also make good progress themselves. At the same time that she was having this thought, she saw something that made her blood run cold: smoke, up ahead on the track. And it was coming towards her.

  Shit!

  Flick stopped dead in her tracks. With dense brambles either side and no way off the railway line, she was as stuck as a fish in a barrel. They hadn’t spotted her yet, but it was only a matter of time… minutes, or even less. She looked up and down the track, and then she spotted it, a small gap near the ground, barely big enough to crawl into, but big enough to hide in… if she didn’t have the bike. All she could do with the bike was push it as far under the bushes as it would go and cover it with as many leaves and branches as she could in the few seconds available, and hope that it didn’t get spotted. With the bike hidden as best she could manage, she backed herself into the gap in the brambles and crouched down to wait.

  She heard it before she saw it from her hiding place, clanking and chuffing like a great metal monster. It crawled along not much faster than walking pace, trampling the buddleia and rosebay willowherb that grew in the gravel as if it were no more substantial than grass. Black smoke belched from a tall stove pipe at the front, and jets of steam escaped in all directions from bits of pipework. As it drew level, Flick could see it for what it was; a traction engine, small wheels at the front and two massive tracked wheels behind. Two big men in black, oily overalls stood at the back, one steering, the other ready to stoke the fire. Now Flick saw that it was pulling a low four-wheeled flat bed trailer, with two young lads sitting on it.

  ‘It was around here somewhere, I’m sure of it,’ the stoker shouted.

  ‘You sure? I don’t see nothing,’ the other shouted back.

  ‘Yeah. Sun glinted off it, like it was metal. Could be a bike or something.’

  ‘I reckon you’re imagining it,’ the driver shouted. ‘Get one of the lads to poke about if you want, but I’m not stopping; we’ve stopped four times already today!’

  The stoker turned to the lads on the trailer. ‘One of you hop down and have a poke around. I’m sure there’s something here.’

  The two lads looked at each other and shrugged. After a moment one of them muttered sullenly, ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ and jumped down. He kicked vaguely at the weeds as he walked around. Then he saw the pile of twigs that Flick had heaped over her bike.

  ‘Oh hang on, there might be something here… looks like someone was trying to hide it…’

  Flick shrank back as he bent down to pull the branches away. Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as the branch came away to reveal the bicycle underneath. He reached for it and started tugging. Flick didn’t know what to do; that was her life line, without that bike her pursuers would be sure to catch her. She did the only thing she could think of doing, and grabbed the wheel and pulled.

  The lad let go of the bike in surprise, and fell over backwards with a yelp.

  The second lad, still on the trailer looked around and called out, ‘What is it? Jed? Where are you?’

  Jed picked himself up onto his knees and grabbed for the bike once more. That’s when he saw Flick hiding in the brambles. She had her knife in one hand and was clutching onto the bike with the other.

  ‘Leave it,’ she growled.

  Jed blinked. Clearly a bike that fought back with a girl hidden in the bushes was beyond his experience, and he just knelt there staring at Flick, unmoving for several seconds.

  ‘Buzz off!’ she hissed, waving the knife. ‘Go!’

  Jed let go of the bike and stood up. His mouth was working, but no sounds came out. Eventually he seemed to make up his mind, and turned and ran back to the trailer, which was heading off along the trackway.

  ‘What was that about?’ the second lad called.

  ‘I saw a bike, but the girl in the bushes wouldn’t let go of it,’ Jed answered.

  ‘Yeah, right. You’re worse than Bert, always seeing things that aren’t there!’

  Flick watched and waited as the engine and its crew clanked and wheezed and bickered into the distance.

  Thirty minutes after the mayor’s gang started down the lane, the truck rolled up and stopped a hundred metres short of the derelict cottage. The back opened and the Kingsmen spilled out.

  ‘Now listen up,’ Dixon said. ‘We’re going to surround the cottage and move in quietly. We don’t know if she’s still inside or nearby, and we don’t want to spook her. Carter, you’ll call out to her when we’re in position; she should respond better to your voice. Anderson, you’ll be lookout in case the mayor’s men show up. Get somewhere high. We’ve probably got two hours, tops if they come straight here. Young, get up onto the top of the ridge, see if you can see any movement from up there.’

  They all raised a fist in silent acknowledgment, and the squad crept towards the house. Once they were in position, Dixon signalled to Adam.

  ‘Flick! You in there? It’s me, Adam!’

  There was no response. Dixon whispered something to Adam and he nodded.

  ‘Flick, I’m coming in, real slow. It’s just me; if you’re in there, don’t do anything stupid!’

  Again there was silence.

  ‘You sure you want to do this, cadet?’ Dixon asked.

  Adam nodded. ‘Yes ma’am, I should be the first person she sees.’

  ‘Ok, good luck.’

  Adam crept up to the wall of the building, and edged along to the door opening. He called one last time, ‘Flick, I’m coming in.’ He waited a moment before going through the door.

  Adam very quickly moved through all the rooms of the cottage, and found them to be empty. He went back to the entrance and gave the all clear before poking his head out and waving. The rest of the squad moved in.

  ‘She’s not here now, but has she been here?’ Dixon asked.

  Sergeant Wailing stepped forward. ‘We’ve done a sweep, ma’am. The grate’s cold, so there’s been no fire in it recently, although there have been fires lit in the not too distant past. No sign of bedding or waste material, so if she was here she covered her tracks.’

  Dixon turned to Adam, ‘Can you remember anything about the place that might be different or not quite right?’

  Adam thought for a moment. ‘No, we never used to leave stuff here, ‘cos there’s no door and it might get nicked… No, wait… there was something. She used to have a spare bow and arrow that she hid in the wall. Thought none of us knew, but we did. I’ll see if it’s still there.’

  He went over to the wall and pulled back a board. The space behind it was empty. ‘It’s gone,’ he called excitedly.

  Dixon instructed the squad to make a sweep of the area in the time they had left, to discover if there were any signs of activity that hadn’t been erased by their size ten boots. Before long they’d identified several tracks made by a narrow two-wheeled
vehicle, probably a bicycle, and determined that they led off in several directions.

  ‘Clever,’ Dixon said. ‘She’s laid down some false trails. Good delaying tactic. Carter, which way do you think she’d go from here?’

  Adam thought for a moment. ‘My first guess is that she’d go up to the top of the ridge. It’d give her a good vantage point. But she’d also be exposed. My second guess is she’d double back to the railway line and go along the tracks. Depends where she’s headed.

  ‘I’ve got an idea there,’ said Dixon. ‘If she had been in contact with this Shea O’Connell character, chances are she’ll be trying to meet up. Now that probably means they’ll be headed west. My instinct is they’re going to Bristol.

  ‘The railway track worries me. One thing is that the embankments will be a problem for the APC to get up and down, the other is that the tracks lead straight into the middle of Swindon, and I’m convinced that’s one place she’ll try to avoid. No, we’ll take the ridge. Get Fletcher and tell her to signal Young: We’re coming up to meet him.’

  The squad piled back into the wagon, and they set off up the winding track, past the giant white horse carved into the side of the hillside, and onto the top of the ridge. At the top they picked up Kingsman Young, who gave his report.

  ‘Ma’am, there are definitely bicycle tracks up here, but whether they are our girl I can’t say. I sighted Griffin and his gang while you were on the way up; they are quite close to the cottage now.’

  He handed the lieutenant his binoculars and pointed. She studied for a while, then handed them back.

  ‘They should be busy there for a little while. The girl laid a load of false trails, including I suspect, one coming up here. My gut feeling is that she headed for the railway, but I also don’t think she’ll stay there long. She’ll be forced to come back south if she’s to avoid Swindon, so we’ll get there ahead of her, and wait for her to come to us.’

  They made good progress along the ridge, and after a while came to the side of a wide valley that signalled they were getting close to Swindon. Sergeant Wailing turned to the lieutenant.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s a com tower here just off the track; we should check it out.’ Dixon agreed, and the truck turned and drove up to the tower. A chain link fence surrounded a small compound in which a tall metal pylon stood among a small cluster of sheds.

  ‘Looks like no one’s been up here–see the tracks that we’ve just made, but there are no others. We should fill our tank while we’re here: these places usually have a water tank for the steam generator.’

  ‘Do we have a key for the padlock?’ Dixon asked.

  ‘Doubt it, ma’am.’

  ‘Okay, cut it,’ she said.

  They were quickly through the gate and into the compound. While they were filling the tank, Adam asked what the steam generator was for.

  ‘That’s above your pay grade, cadet’ growled Sergeant Wailing.

  ‘Everything’s above my pay grade Sarge, ‘cos I ain’t had no pay yet!’ Adam replied.

  ‘Pay? We do it for the love of it!’ Anderson chipped in, and everyone laughed.

  ‘Okay,’ Dixon said. ‘Back in the dark days before…’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You get the picture. There were lots of these towers all over the place. They used them to send messages through the air.’

  ‘Oooh, electric,’ said Anderson, raising her arms above her head, hands waving in her best ghost impression.

  ‘No, seriously…’

  ‘Anderson’s right, it was electricity. After The Collapse, they used steam to make electricity, but as the people disappeared, they forgot how, and the towers stopped being maintained, and they collapsed or got scavenged for the steel.’

  ‘But this one hasn’t collapsed, and there’s water in the tank…’

  ‘That’s above your pay grade!’ Dixon said, laughing.

  ‘And isn’t electricity the root of all evil?’ Adam asked.

  Before anyone could answer, the corporal poked his head into the back of the truck. ‘Tank’s full, and everything’s squared away, ma’am,’ he reported.

  ‘Lock and load ladies, we’re out of here!’ the lieutenant announced, and moments later they were on the move.

  31

  Truda! Truda!

  FLICK MADE USE of the time she spent hiding in the bushes, and ate lunch. But now she needed to get far away from the railway track as soon as possible, since if those four on the traction engine met her pursuers, they’d have no trouble believing the story of a girl hiding in the brambles…

  She crawled out when she was sure they were out of sight and set off along the track, keeping a beady eye out for a gap big enough to squeeze both her and the bike through. When she found one, she pushed through it, ignoring the scratches from the brambles, and emerged into the remains of a field on the other side.

  The going was tougher now, and she had to push her bike much of the way until she found what once could have been a lane between field boundaries. After that she could ride and pedal once more. Only now did it occur to her that she was back on the south side of the railway and heading back towards the ridge…

  There was more smoke.

  It was moving from left to right, and quite far away. Instinctively she hid among some trees while she tried to get a better look. It was far enough away that she could only see the smoke, and not what was making it–probably another steam engine of some sort–and hopefully from that distance they wouldn’t see her.

  When she continued, she stayed close to the hedge line and stayed as far away as she could from open spaces. A horrible thought struck her as she neared the base of the ridge: She must cross the road that led directly back towards her cottage hide out. What if the pursuers came directly along it instead of following her trail? Even walking, they could be here in as much time as she’d taken cycling back up and along the railway and down again. She had to hope that the lack of any trail would mean they turned around and went elsewhere. Her best hope was that they didn’t know where she was headed and try to cut her off.

  There was no sign that anyone had been along that lane though, and it was pretty well overgrown at this point. Once across, the track started to rise. There were more frequent bends as it followed the contours of the hill, until finally she reached the top. The ridge itself was quite thickly forested, although there were many clearings, and the steep north face was pretty much bare of anything other than grass. There was an old girder tower on the ridge; if she could climb it, the view over the area would be spectacular, and anyone moving over open ground would be visible for miles around.

  The tower was set in a small compound, along with a brick and concrete hut, and surrounded by a mesh fence. Someone had put time and effort into maintaining it, although there were signs of recent neglect; a gap under the fence that had probably been started by some burrowing animal, gang tags painted onto the walls of the hut. If she could get inside it, she thought the hut could be easily defended and the fence meant she wouldn’t be taken entirely by surprise.

  There were tyre tracks leading up to the compound from the main ridge-top trackway; big chunky tyres from the looks of them, from a tractor or other large vehicle, and quite fresh. There was no sign of the tractor now, and Flick wondered if it had anything to do with the smoke she’d seen earlier. As long as it didn’t come back though, that was the main thing.

  The door to the hut was padlocked. Flick examined the lock; it was not something she could open. But the door was old wood, and with the big steel hunting knife in her pack she should be able to jemmy it. But first she would walk around and see what there was to see. On one side of the hut there was a small window. The glass though was opaque, designed to allow in some light but not to see in or out. It was also covered by a metal grille that was set into the brickwork. Around the other side there was a stack of logs, chopped as if for a fire and covered by a wooden awning. She stood back and saw there were two small chimney stacks set into the concrete roof. Next to t
he wood pile there was a large covered tank. The cover was rusty metal but it had a handle on it, and with some effort she was able to lift the cover and look inside.

  Water.

  She dipped a hand in and licked it: fresh too. That solved the problem of what to do when her water bottle ran out.

  The tower itself was made from an open metal lattice. At the base there were four legs planted in the ground and forming a square. Its top was easily as high again as the highest tree, and a number of strange objects were attached to it near the top. There was a ladder running up one of the legs, so it would be relatively simple to climb to the top.

  Flick decided that it would be better to climb the tower before opening the hut. For one thing she would know if there was anyone nearby and by extension if she needed to keep running. The sun was starting to sink in the sky and soon it would be dark, so potentially this could be a good place to spend the night.

  She dumped her pack by the door to the hut, and set to work climbing the tower. It was pretty straightforward, and other than stopping for a breather a couple of times, there was no real difficulty. When she reached the top there was a platform made from a metal grille that she could perch on to survey the area.

  The view was terrific, so long as she didn’t look in the direction of the sinking sun. The sky was clear and the moon had not yet risen. She could see for dozens of miles in every direction; looking back along the ridge she could see the trackway that ran along the top. In some places it faded out and in others it was hidden behind trees, but there were no obvious signs of people. She could also clearly see the lane that ran along the bottom of the ridge although much more of it was obscured.

  Off to her right, in the distance was Faringdon. To her left, much closer, the ruined outskirts of Swindon jutted through the trees like so many rotten teeth, and a little further away the centre of the town that was still inhabited. Only the tallest buildings showed, broken and crumbled. Smaller ones were lost, hidden among the trees and vigorous undergrowth. They hadn’t built a wall around Swindon, and as a result it was a rough, lawless place. She hoped that she could stay away from it and skirt around; there were worse things than walking through the streets of Swindon unprotected, but not many.