Sleeper

by J. D. Fennell

  Behind him, he hears howling, the signal that Frost and his pack are hunting. This time, Will is their prey.

  He runs.

  His blood thunders in his ears and sweat cools on his face as he reaches the edge of the trees and clears the woods. The sky is an inky black canopy with a scattering of stars and a thin waxing crescent moon that provides a small measure of silvery light. He can see the narrow country road where they parked the cars earlier. They are somewhere here, but where?

  The howling is getting closer.

  He sees beams of torchlight scanning the woods. With the sleeve of his blazer, he wipes the sweat from his brow and glances up and down the road. He spots a line of bushes almost twenty yards ahead. They seem out of place, as if they had just been propped there. He hurries towards them and sees a glimpse of something gleaming behind them. There!

  Torch beams slice through the darkness. Frost is reckless, believing himself and VIPER above the law. They care nothing for wartime blackout rules and he would gladly put a bullet into heart of a local bobby or the Home Guard if they were unlucky enough to challenge him.

  As Will moves towards the cars, he wonders what will be his fate if he doesn’t manage to escape. Inevitably he would die, but not quickly. Before death there would be torture, questions bellowed into his ears: Who are you? Why did you do it? Who are you working for? That was the million-dollar question. Who was he working for? Will was no longer so sure of that himself.

  For four years he had lived learning to become one of them, at someone else’s request. He had his own reason for doing it, of course: revenge. Frost had called him ‘the boy with the fire in his belly’, and he was not wrong. Will’s desire for vengeance had made it easy for him to keep his mask up. He had fooled them all with the intention of destroying them. He had waited four years, living with these murderers, all the while being fed secret messages from Control. He had done his best and waited for the opportunity to infiltrate VIPER and bring them down, but that opportunity had never arisen. And then, out of the blue, Colonel Frost had given him his first mission. The agents of VIPER’s most important mission: acquire the notebook containing the whereabouts of a weapon so powerful it could cause destruction on a massive scale. This was no ordinary weapon. It was something ancient and otherworldly. VIPER were experts in mixing science with the occult. Will had heard some strange stories and seen some weird things in his four years. If the stories about this weapon were true, he could not let VIPER have control of something so awful. Thousands would perish. Many must die for the world to change. That was VIPER’s mantra. Will was sick to the stomach of hearing it. He could not allow that to happen. He had set aside his own personal vendetta in order to get the notebook away and figure out what to do with it. Give it to Control or destroy it himself. The details hadn’t seemed important.

  The cars are lined up in a row facing the road and hidden from view. There are three Austin 8s, a general-purpose model chosen by Frost. Anything more ostentatious might cause people to look twice and raise suspicion. From his satchel, Will takes out the car keys he had nimbly stolen from the pocket of one of the more careless soldiers. The howling draws closer; torchlight spills onto the road.

  Having climbed into one of the Austins, he turns over the ignition. It coughs momentarily before springing into life. He breathes a sigh of relief. Despite the war, no expense is spared with VIPER. The best of everything is provided: food, accommodation, rewards, weapons and cars. They invested a lot and expected much in return. This was one moment when he could be grateful for their largesse.

  Will steps on the accelerator and releases the handbrake. He spins the wheel and speeds up the country road as the pack emerges from the woods in one long line. They must have doubled their efforts to find him. Two are ahead of him, shining their torches at the Austin. Will raises his hand to his eyes to stave off the glare. He hears the rapid crack of the Johnson rifles. The car judders at the impact of the bullets, but he is unhurt. VIPER have invested well – the Austin, like all their vehicles, is bullet proof. Will glances in the rear-view mirror. His throat dries. He is not out of trouble yet. The pack are climbing into the remaining cars. He knows Frost will do everything in his power to stop him escaping. He has the notebook and he knows too much. Will grips the steering wheel, slams the accelerator and drives for his life.

  Chapter 3

  The End of the Road

  Will swears under his breath. If only he’d had more time, he could have disabled the other cars. He focuses on the dark narrow road ahead and recalls the route he memorised at this morning’s briefing. He knows Hastings town is nearby, and with it the possibility of finding a telephone box. All he has to do is call the operator and quote the four-digit number. He would be put through to Control and, after he gave him the code, Control would advise him what to do. He just had to find a telephone box.

  Behind him the road is lit up with the beams from the headlights of the two Austins. This part of his plan makes him the most nervous. It has been three months since he passed his Driving Proficiency test. He can handle a car, but has little experience on the roads, unlike his murderous ex-colleagues who are adults with many years driving experience behind them. It is entirely possible they will catch up with him. And when they do, they will run him off the road headfirst into the nearest tree. But, the fate of humanity is inside Will’s leather satchel. He has to think of something fast. Something they will not predict.

  Up ahead, tall trees lined either side of the road, their branches stretching across and forming a natural tunnel. With his hands gripping the wheel Will plunges into what seems like a vacuum of darkness. He can see nothing and has no choice but to switch on the headlamps. He takes a breath and tries to get his bearings. If his memory is correct, there is a turning around the next corner, which leads to Hastings’ ruins and the road down into the village. He considers his options: first find a telephone box and make contact with Control. The pack are right behind him. It will be easy to find a public telephone box but it would take a miracle for him to put through a call without getting a bullet in his back. First things first, he has to lose the agents of VIPER.

  He speeds around a corner a little too fast and almost loses control of the car. The wheel slides through his damp palms as he fights to turn it. He gasps but manages to steady it in time. He glances in the rear-view mirror. The beams from the other cars are out of sight for the moment. Ahead he can see the right turn-off, so he eases the brakes and steers into it, the tyres crunching noisily on what is just a narrow gravel path. Switching off the headlamps he continues to drive waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, praying that he doesn’t hit a tree or drive off into a ditch.

  He hears the other two Austins speeding by and breathes a sigh of relief. It will only take moments for them to realise he is not ahead of them, so he must hurry.

  It is too dark. He has no choice but to turn the lights back on. The gravel path is getting steeper, and the terrain clearer. He looks to the road below and sees a car speeding along it. Considering how fast it is going, it could only be the pack. It turns up the gravel path. Will’s heart sinks. He slams on the accelerator and wonders where the third car could be.

  He is hot; the windows inside the car are steaming up. He winds down the driver’s window, and tastes the air which is thick with salt. At the top of the gravel path there is no discernible road to follow. He can see the stone ruins of Hastings Castle and hear the surf lapping against the nearby cliffs, but he sees no one. Beyond the ruins is the village, and with it, the promise of a telephone box or even a new car he can steal.

  Behind him, the second Austin is gaining ground. But where was the third? No time to worry about that now. He rubs the back of his neck. Think. Think. He wonders if he has any weapons left? With one hand on the wheel he opens the satchel and searches inside. He steadies his breathing and thinks hard. After a few seconds, he decides what he must do.

  Will stops the car and gets out. He leans back inside, re
leases the brake and pushes the Austin back down the gravel path, watching with satisfaction as it hurtles toward the oncoming car containing one half of the pack. As much as he would love to watch the collision he has precious little time. He turns and sprints through the ruins of the castle. Behind him, he hears a satisfying crunch and the sound of the pack’s voices shouting in alarm. An explosion follows. He smiles to himself and runs in the direction of the village.

  And then, the blinding light of headlamps appears in the darkness, only twenty yards ahead. Will skids to a halt, squinting in the bright light. There is a broad figure silhouetted in the glare. A figure he knows well. Frost.

  ‘Very impressive, William. I have taught you well.’

  Will’s heart pounds angrily in his chest. But he isn’t afraid. He balls his fists. ‘You’re not getting the notebook, Colonel,’ he says, clutching the satchel tightly.

  The Colonel’s eyes flick to the bag and back to Will. He is unarmed, but Will knows better than to feel secure about that. Behind the pack leader, the agents of VIPER wait, their rifles ready to riddle the betrayer with holes.

  A horrible sense of loss sweeps over him and for a second it seems hopeless and that his elaborate plans has failed. But he is not one to give up so easily. He has already decided he would die trying, if that’s what it takes.

  ‘Give me the bag, William.’

  Will reaches slowly into his bag, takes out the Welrod pistol and points it at the Colonel. In the darkness the rifles click in unison, ready to take out their target. Will’s muscles coil.

  The Colonel gestures to the pack. ‘Lower your rifles.’ He looks at Will and raises his arms. ‘I am unarmed. It doesn’t have to be this way. Just give me the bag.’

  ‘No!’ Will points the Welrod at Frost’s chest.

  ‘Why do this, William? You, of all people. I gave you a life. I gave you a purpose.’

  Will’s grip on the pistol tightens. ‘You murdering bastard, you destroyed my life! ’

  ‘Ah. I see. I had no idea. Many must die for the world to change, William. That is our goal. It is what you signed up for.’

  There is a hint of mockery in the Colonel’s voice that makes Will’s shoulders tighten but he steadies his breathing and focuses. The pack leader is baiting him.

  ‘Give me the bag and we’ll say nothing more of it.’

  Will thinks quickly. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction than snuffing out this monster’s lights. But there is still the remotest of chances he can win. He squeezes the trigger. His first shot hits the left headlamp. Swiftly, he points at the right headlamp and extinguishes the light, plunging them all into darkness.

  The rifles fire as Will ducks and scrambles back toward the ruins, diving behind an ancient wall as a volley of bullets speeds in his direction. Tiny specs of stone spray his clammy face. Wiping them away, he catches his breath. What now? The gravel track may be his only option. He makes a dash towards it as more of the pack hurry towards the ruins. The village road would make him an open target. He turns towards the cliffs. Fast footfalls thunder on the ground near the ruins. He has no choice. He jumps from the ruins and sprints towards the darkness.

  ‘There!’ shouts a voice.

  The rapid crack of gunfire fills the air as bullets fly past him and out to sea. He keeps running, praying one will not find his back. There is something up ahead. Eyes wide, he gasps and skids to a halt, inches from the edge of the cliff, staring down at an angry sea. If he had kept running he would have certainly fallen to his death. It is at least a 500-foot drop. He trembles, inching back slowly. Then, the beam of a torchlight sweeps behind him.

  Will’s heart ices over. As his eyes adjust to the torchlight, he can see the Colonel and, behind him, the pack.

  ‘It’s over William. Give me the bag.’

  Will reaches into the bag.

  ‘Just the bag.’

  Will removes it from his shoulder and tosses it toward them. The pack leader gestures to the nearest soldier, who obediently picks it up.

  ‘It’s the end of the road. You understand I cannot let you live. My masters would not allow it and besides, my wolves need a kill. They need blood.’

  Frost’s men began howling in appreciation.

  The Colonel smiles.

  Suddenly, the pack’s howling ceases and one by one they fall to the ground. Will watches with satisfaction as the pack leader looks about him in confusion. The Colonel sniffs the air taking in the scent of the ether bombs Will had set off in his bag. Fury fills his face as he covers his nose and mouth with his arm and stumbles forward. With his free hand he pulls out his Browning and levels it at Will.

  Will tries to turn, but the Browning fires. Pain explodes in Will’s chest and he stumbles backward, confusion filling his mind. His head slams against a rock and he feels himself weightless, upside down, falling, falling, falling. A bitter wind seems to cut right through him and then everything goes dark.

  Chapter 4

  Skipper

  Will’s eyes snap open as his body crashes through the hard surface of the water. Freezing cold envelopes him, numbing the pain in his chest and head, sucking him down, and spinning him in circles, deeper and deeper into an icy hell.

  How…? Who…? What…?

  His limbs thrash, trying desperately to swim to the surface but he is too tired. He sees nothing but perpetual darkness.

  Breathe slowly… mustn’t panic.

  Exhaling through his nose, he relaxes his arms and legs in an effort to control his technique. He swims, but could be swimming downwards for all he knows. And then, he feels the pull as his body begins to float up. His eyes are sore with saltwater but above him there is the slither of the moon, hazy through a veil of choppy water.

  He breaks the surface and gasps, sucking in every breath greedily. Waves slap his face and ears as he fights to tread water. A hot pain sears through his temple and a fierce freezing sensation penetrates his stomach as if he’s been stabbed by a hundred icicles. His strength is diminishing; he feels his mind losing focus. He knows this is no nightmare and he won’t wake up in a safe warm bed. He can’t keep his eyes open. His mind empties into darkness.

  And then he hears a voice calling, and with it the sound of chugging, getting closer and closer. He is completely numb now; his body seems detached from his head and all he wants to do is go to sleep. He feels peaceful, stops fighting, closes his eyes and sinks once more below the surface of the water. But then something hard and sharp pokes at his back and tugs at his clothes, pulling him upwards.

  He dreams he is sprinting through the streets of London with a pack of vicious rabid dogs on his trail. He can see his house, but strangely it is boarded up as if no one lives there. He glances behind and sees the snarling beasts closing in, their yellow teeth bloody and soiled with strips of human flesh. With a burst of energy, he springs forward and opens the front door. Inside, the house seems empty and unloved as if no one has lived there for a long time. The rooms are thick with shadows, dust and cobwebs. He thinks this is not his house, yet it is so familiar.

  ‘I’m… I’m home,’ he calls, but no one answers.

  He steps inside and notices the floor is soft. He looks down and sees it is not wooden, but grass, as if the house has been lifted and planted on top of a field somewhere.

  There are four holes in the ground and next to each one is a mound of earth. He hesitates and then approaches them. There is a coffin at the bottom of each hole with an inscription on each one: Mum, then Dad. The third and fourth boxes are empty.

  Outside the dogs are barking and clawing at the door, desperate to get inside and finish him off. The door is weak and flies open. He spins round but the dogs are upon him, tearing the flesh from his bones. He screams.

  Will wakes trembling, with tears streaming down his face and a savage pain in his head that feels like an ice pick is lodged in his brain. Shivering, he rubs the back of his head; his hair is stiff, matted with dried blood and there is a dull ache in his chest, w
hich makes it hard to breath. He is naked and wrapped in a rough blanket that scratches his skin. His mind whirls in confusion. He recalls being in the cold sea, swimming for his life. It had not been a dream. But how did he get here?

  He pushes himself up, but his head spins and his chest feels like it has been hit by a train. He breathes slowly and lets his eyes focus. He is in a dimly lit room that feels like it is moving, creaking, shifting up, then down. He hears the lapping sound of water. There is a round window through which he can see the night sky. He is in the cabin of a boat. He looks to his right. Hanging nearby, over a small oven, is a blazer, a white shirt, trousers, socks, underwear and, on the floor, a soggy pair of brown brogues.

  ‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ comes a voice.

  Will jolts and looks in its direction. Sitting at a small table in a corner is an older gentleman. His hair is white and his face weathered and striking. He is smoking a pipe; the air is fragrant with its sweet, pungent tobacco.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You can call me Skipper. Everyone does.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re on board The Outcast.’

  ‘The Outcast?’

  ‘Part-time tugger; part-time fishin’ service. Got me quite a catch tonight, I’d say.’

  Will rubs his head. ‘I… I was in the sea. But how?’

  The old man puffs on his pipe and considers his reply. After a moment, he speaks. ‘Someone put you there.’

  Will frowns, which makes his head hurt more.

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘Neither do I,’ says the old man, blowing out a ring of smoke. ‘By the looks of it you associate with some dangerous folk.’

  Will does not know what the old man is talking about. His memory is foggy, his head dizzy.