by Paul Kane
“Your body needed time to heal itself,” explained Mary. “You took a bit of a tumble.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Not for the first time, by the looks of it. I always say that there’s nothing a good long rest won’t cure and this is a perfect example. Don’t worry about what’s been happening out there, your men seem to have everything under control. They’re still delivering stolen stuff back to people it was stolen from...” Mary thought about this for a second. “If you see what I mean.”
“You talk a lot,” said Robert.
“Not really – that is, not usually. Not that there’s such a thing as usual in this case. Sorry, I’m rambling again, aren’t I? What I mean is, I think I’m making up for not having talked to anyone for so long, not since my brother...” She let her silence say what she couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said.
Mary looked down. “Yeah, well, I’m figuring that it happened to a lot of folk. Especially talking to some of them around the camp.”
Robert nodded. “What were you doing when I woke up just then? Looked like you were making notes or something.” He gestured to the clipboard under her arm.
“What? Oh, this...” She took it out. “It was the only spare paper I could find; the back of some inventory or other.” Mary turned the board around and Robert saw sketches of himself; not lying unconscious as he had been for a couple of days, apparently, but upright head and shoulder views: one of him with the hood, one without. The one without looked just like him... and again the beard was gone. He took it from her and examined it more closely.
“You’re very good,” he said.
Mary shrugged. “Had to do something to while away the hours.” There was a pause before she spoke again, changing the subject. “Tell me something –” she began, then shook her head.
“What?”
“No, it’s really none of my business.”
Robert moved forwards, letting the blanket drop a little. “What?” he repeated.
“Who’re Joanne and Stevie?”
Robert’s lips tightened.
“I only ask because you said both their names when you were out of it. Practically screamed them, in fact. I asked round camp but nobody’s called Stevie and there are definitely no Joannes. No one seemed to know who –”
“You did what?” Robert’s voice rose and he threw down the clipboard.
Mary recoiled. “I’m... I’m sorry, I just –”
“Just what? Thought you’d try and find out about my past? I hardly even know you!” Robert was edging forwards now, his face red with anger. “I want you to leave now.”
“No,” she snapped back, folding her arms. “No, I won’t. One thing you ought to know about me right off is that I will not be bullied – my father and brother found that out. So did that colonel back there at my farm. Now, I know you came to my ‘rescue’ and I really do appreciate it, but I saved your life. Twice. You of all people don’t get to speak to me like that.”
Robert rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Please, I just want to you go.” His tone had softened and he was trying hard not to let Mary see him cry.
This change of tack seemed to throw her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly. I was just curious, that’s all. It’s really nothing to do with me.”
Robert looked at Mary. He did owe her a lot, but did he owe her an explanation? Could he bring himself to tell anyone about what had happened?
Tate’s words rang in his ears. “And those people back there, do you not think they would give everything they have to turn back the clock? Don’t you think that they lost people they loved as well?”
Mary had lost her family to the virus, and now her home to fire. What made his suffering any worse than hers?
“I should go, like you said,” she said softly. “Leave you in peace.”
She made to get up, and he suddenly found himself reaching out a hand and placing it on her arm. Mary turned and looked into his eyes.
“Wait,” he said. “I –”
“Robbie! Robbie!” Jack’s deep voice interrupted him. It was coming from outside the tent at first, then seconds later it was inside, along with Jack himself. He stuck his head through the gap. “Robbie... Oh, I didn’t realise I was interrupting something.”
“Mary was just...”
“...checking on the patient,” she finished for him. They shared a look of complicity.
“I see.” Jack seemed far from convinced. “Like the new look, by the way. Very smooth.”
“What exactly do you want?” asked Robert.
The big man faced Mary. “Is he up to coming outside, little lady?”
“I’m up to it,” Robert cut in before she could answer.
“Good, because I really think you should see this, buddy.”
When Mary left, Robert threw on some clothes, which had been washed, wincing as his body protested. He probably shouldn’t be going anywhere, still needed to rest, but Jack’s tone told him that he was needed urgently.
In the middle of the camp a few of the men had gathered around. Slowly, Robert made his way towards them, waving down both Jack and Mary’s offers of assistance. Inside the circle was a man, probably only in his thirties, but he looked much older: he was losing his hair rapidly, there were heavy bags under his eyes, and he had a ripe, purple bruise on his forehead. His hands were shaking as he sat on a log, a blanket covering his shoulders. Tate was filling a bowl with stew from the campfire to feed the man. When he took it, and the spoon, he nodded a thank you to the Reverend. Robert noticed that his hands were still shaking as he took the food and began to eat.
“What’s going on here, who is this man?” Robert asked.
“Robert, you’re up.” Tate turned towards him, concern etched in his face. The rest of the men there did the same, their fascination shifting from this poor wretch to their resurrected leader. It made him uncomfortable, the way they were staring at him: some of them no doubt saying to themselves, So, he can be hurt after all – he isn’t invulnerable. Others thinking exactly the opposite, that he’d been caught in the explosion and lived to tell the tale.
“Yes, and I asked a question,” he replied, trying to deflect the attention away from himself.
“His name’s Mills, comes from a community just outside Ravenshead,” said Bill, who’d been leaning on a tree at the back. “We just delivered there week before last; De Falaise had left ’em starving.”
“He says he’s got some very important information,” Jack added.
“Okay,” said Robert, “I’m listening.”
“Allow the man to eat.” Tate let his stick take his weight. “He’s about ready to pass out.”
Mills held up a hand. “It’s all right... really... I need to tell you all this...” He looked around at the faces present, then settled on Robert’s. “It happened late last night. They... they came without any kind of warning... started... started...”
Robert came closer. “Who came? What did they do?”
“For Heaven’s sake, Robert, can’t you see the man’s distressed?” Tate snapped.
“Yes, I can. And I want to know why.”
Mills was choking back a sob. “They took my Elaine. Came into the village and just took her... right out of our house. I’d only just found someone who...” He sniffed back another tear, then said with hatred in his voice: “It was the Sheriff’s men.”
It still amazed Robert how easily that name had come back into usage, and how rather than some comic strip villain it now stood for everything that was wrong in this world – striking dread into the survivors of the virus. “They’ve taken people before,” Robert commented, not wishing to sound cold but regretting the words as soon as he’d said them.
“Not on this scale.” Mills sighed heavily. “They took at least seven people, maybe ten, and they told those who were left behind that they were going to grab more from different villages. Places loyal to you.” It might have been Robert’s imag
ination, but had there been a veiled accusation in that sentence? All he’d been trying to do was help them, protect them from this monster that had taken up residence in the castle.
“What do they want them for?” asked Tate, his voice gentle but firm. “Slave labour?”
“They... They said they were going to kill them... unless...”
“Yes?” coaxed the holy man.
“Unless the Hooded Man surrenders himself to the Sheriff.”
Robert had been expecting something like this.
“They have only till the weekend to live, then the Sheriff will begin executing them,” Mills blurted out. “Publicly, by hanging them in the grounds of the castle. Beginning at daybreak on Saturday.”
Jack whistled, and immediately apologised for his tactlessness.
“He can’t do that,” Mary said. Then, turning to Robert, “Tell me he can’t do that.”
“Oh, he can,” Robert assured her, “and he will. Unless I give myself up to him.”
“Now hold on there just a goddamn minute,” Jack said, “if you do that, who’ll be left to stand up for these people? The Frenchman will just walk all over them again.”
“Jack’s right.” This from Bill. “The whole thing’ll start over again. Everything we fought for will have bin for nothin’.”
“And,” chipped in Granger, who had been standing silently in the crowd till then, “the Frenchman is just going to kill the villagers anyway. The guy’s a psycho.”
Robert stepped even closer. “You say that they’re doing this all over the region?”
Mills nodded.
“How many people do we have out there at the moment, delivering to villages?”
“Not that many, why?” Jack said.
“Why? Because they’re in danger. More than they ever were before. The chances of our men and the Sheriff’s men running into each other are much higher.”
“Oh no,” said Bill, standing upright.
Robert hobbled over. “What is it?”
Bill gazed at him, wide-eyed. “We have a team out deliverin’ not far from Newstead today. They set off early this mornin’. Tony Saddler’s leading it, the ex-TA bloke we recruited from Kersall.”
“Newstead? That’s only a stone’s throw from Ravenshead,” Robert said to himself. “We have to radio and warn them.”
“Robert...”
“Go on,” said Robert.
“Mark’s wi’ that team.”
Robert’s mouth fell open. Mark. Snatches of the nightmare came back to him, glimpses of De Falaise clutching the boy, holding the gun to his head. “How could you have let him go off like that?”
“How was I supposed to stop him? Lad’s got a mind of his own. ’E wanted to help, an’ I figured he’d be safe enough in Saddler’s group.”
Robert said nothing, just stared at Bill in disbelief.
“Mark’s bin lookin’ after himsen for years. I thought it’d be all right. I didn’t bloody well know about all this lot, did I?”
Robert turned to Jack. “Get on the radio, find out their location. Warn them they might run into some company.”
“I didn’t know...” Bill called out after him.
But Robert wasn’t taking any notice, he was too busy following Jack as the big man took off his cap, placed a set of earphones on his head, and worked the radio he’d cannibalised from one of the stolen vehicles (as a kid shortwave had been one of his hobbies, and a way of keeping in touch with the world outside upstate New York). “Come in Green Five, are you reading me? Over.” Jack listened intently, one hand on the left earphone. He repeated the message.
“Anything?” Robert asked after a few moments.
“Not yet. I’m having trouble raising them. It’s just static on their wavelength. Could be that they’re just in a black spot.”
“Or something else. Keep trying.”
“Hey, sure. I like the little squirt. He’s my biggest fan.” Robert patted him on the shoulder and staggered back to the tent. Mary chased after him.
“I hope you’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing.”
Robert stopped, turned, was about to say something, then didn’t bother. He reached inside, bringing out his bow and quiver.
“You’re crazy,” she told him. “Look at you. You can barely stand.”
“I can manage,” he assured her.
“Like hell!”
He began to walk away from her, but she raced around in front of him and stood in his way.
“Mary, please. I have to go. I have to try and warn them.”
She searched his expression, and eventually said, “Right, well, you’re going to need a driver then.”
“I said I can manage,” he told her, then missed a step and almost keeled over. He recovered before Mary could grab him.
“Either you let me drive or I’m going to fetch that sword. Right now. I mean it.”
Robert sighed again, then nodded. She fell in alongside him as they made their way out of the forest towards the confiscated jeeps.
MARY WASN’T THE only one who’d insisted on tagging along. Bill, obviously feeling guilty about Mark, caught up with them as they were climbing into the vehicle. Robert didn’t say anything. He just gestured for Mary to start the engine. She was well used to driving Land Rovers and the like, she told them, so this was no problem for her. In fact, Robert had to admit he was impressed with the way she guided the jeep over fields while he consulted the map – steering clear of the roads as much as possible in case they were seen.
They covered the distance cross-country quite quickly, keeping in touch with Jack to see if he’d been able to contact Green Five. Robert had personally okay’d their leader after witnessing how he handled himself when defending his own community against the Sheriff’s men. Robert and his group had come in on the tail end of the fight, but when it was over and the invaders had decided to take flight, Robert asked Tony Saddler if he would consider joining them. “We can always use someone with your expertise,” he’d told him. The chestnut-haired man had needed little persuasion to put his training to good use. He was an experienced soldier, who’d been serving in the Territorial Army when the virus hit. Mark should be in safe hands with Tony.
So why did Robert have such a nagging feeling that something had already gone disastrously wrong? Was it just the dream, or something else? The radio silence? Could be just out of range as Jack said, or even that the equipment at their end was broken. But Robert doubted it.
When they reached Green Five’s last known location, Robert’s worst fears were confirmed. As they made their way down one last dirt track, they saw the smoke rising above the trees, into the early evening sky. The village Saddler and his team had been delivering to was pretty much like any other in the region, and had no doubt been beautiful in its heyday. Quaint cottages lined the roads even before they got to the main street, but now they were in ruins, the walls dotted with bullet holes.
It was even worse in the centre of the village. A truck had jackknifed, blocking off the road, though Robert couldn’t tell if it was one of theirs or De Falaise’s – seeing as they’d originally stolen their vehicles from him. Here and there were upturned motorbikes. And bodies, plenty of bodies.
“Judas Priest!” said Bill as they edged closer.
“Bring us in slowly, Mary – and keep your eyes peeled.” Robert glanced over and saw her take one hand off the steering wheel to pick up a Peacekeeper. He gripped his bow tightly, though there wasn’t enough room to ready it. Mary braked gently when they arrived at the truck, bringing the jeep to a stop but not putting on the handbrake in case they needed to beat a hasty retreat.
“Wait here,” Robert said to Mary, “Keep the engine running.” He opened the door and hopped down, still wobbly but feeling better for the fact that he could now use his bow. Bill joined him, shotgun at the ready. They advanced together.
It was no longer a peaceful British village in the countryside; now it resembled the streets
of some foreign war-torn land.
Some of the bodies Robert recognised, though they were in terrible condition. These were his men, all right: what was left of Green Five. My God! Mark... he thought, scanning the ground to see if he could spot him, but hoping against hope he wouldn’t.
What he did see was Saddler. The man had made it several metres from the truck, crawling, leaving a streak of blood behind him. He had given up when he came to a grass verge and simply collapsed onto it.
Bill covered him as Robert crouched down to feel Saddler’s neck. There was nothing. He shook his head and caught the look in Bill’s eye.
They noticed movement across the street and both Robert and Bill swung their weapons in its direction.
The figure coming towards them had its hands in the air and was shouting: “Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.”
Robert could see now that it was a young girl of about fifteen. Where her face wasn’t covered in freckles it was dirty, the pale yellow dress that she was wearing was ripped in places.
“Who are you?” shouted Bill.
“My name’s Sophie,” she told him. “I live...” She looked around at the devastation. “I live here. He’s... he’s the Hooded Man, isn’t he? Like in the stories...”
There were more people emerging from the damaged houses. They were all ages.
“What happened here?” asked Robert. “What happened to my men?”
“The Sheriff,” she said.
“Your people were in the middle of giving us food and blankets,” a man with a shock of white hair told them, “when the attack came. They didn’t stand a chance.”
“How long ago?” Bill asked him.
“Not long. Two, three hours. They took quite a few of our people with them. Kidnapped them, bundled them into the backs of their trucks. They said that unless you surrender yourself to –”
“Yes,” Robert broke in. “Yes, I know what they want. What happened to the boy?”
The old man looked confused.
“About this high. Mop of dirty blond hair, wearing a tracksuit. Always carries a backpack.”
“Mark!” said Sophie. “You’re talking about Mark.”