The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “What are you doing?”

  “They won’t be able to see us,” she said.

  “But we can’t see the road!”

  “I can just about make it out,” she said with confidence Jack thought ill advised, “Just another five minutes until we’re over the summit and we can turn them back on.”

  It was an agonising five minutes. To Jack, the tarmac blended in with the rest of the hill. There was no telling what was road and what was tragic precipice. Every hairpin bend they took was nerve wracking as suddenly Anne would veer off in an unexpected direction, only for Jack to realise they were still on the road.

  Eventually they reached the top. Behind them Fort William was but a speckle of harmless lights. Anne whacked on the headlamps and slammed her foot on the pedal, grinning madly.

  “Fuck you CRU!” she screamed in the rear-view mirror, “Fuck you!”

  The road ahead was theirs. Not a single other soul occupied it. They were free. They had survived.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack sighed with relief, “That was fucking horrific.”

  “The bastards are going to get it now,” Anne gritted her teeth, “I’m going to fucking take delight in murdering the next CRU officer I meet. Filthy fucking scum. How long do we have until Curfew?”

  Jack checked the time on the dashboard display.

  “Another half an hour.”

  “Great. We’re going to get as far away as possible from that fucking town and then we’re going to pull over and catch some sleep, alright?”

  “And then tomorrow, we head South?”

  “Yep. I know Kyle said Carlisle or Newcastle, but I’m thinking a bit farther myself. Let’s see how far the money he gave me gets us.”

  The question had already formed at the back of his throat, but it was stuck there. It was not a question she could answer; regardless, he wanted reassurance. But time stole his opportunity and he slumped against the side of the car door, idly listening to the gentle hum of the rushing road.

  He thought the shock would slowly sink in, but it failed to do so by the time Curfew called. Instead he was cornered in a terrible part of his mind. His sister’s crying voice echoed alongside the sobbing of the kneeling woman, seconds before she was shot. Scar’s last words crept into his head as he replayed Euan’s final moments again and again in his head. Play. Stop. Repeat. He visualised every excruciating detail. The bullet rupturing his frontal lobe, ricocheting out the back of his skull and embedding itself, bloodstained, into the wall without care for the memories and feelings of the person it had ripped through.

  Anne pulled the car off the main road and down a little forest road for a short distance before parking behind a copse of trees by an embankment. When the engine switched off, the world was perfectly still. Nearby a body of water trickled past tranquilly. An owl hooted across the night, but no reply did it receive in return. A cold air enveloped them through the smashed window.

  “Are you alright?” Anne asked, shuffling around so that she could look directly at him for the first time she they had entered the car.

  “Are you?” Jack asked, hoping for an honest answer this time.

  “Nope,” she replied.

  “What do we do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied solemnly, “Kyle would say something like forget about it, move on. But I’ve just lost my whole life - my job, my friends.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack offered little support. He had no advice for her for he was in exactly the same position and had none to offer himself.

  “I grew up in Fort William,” she reflected, “Went to uni in Glasgow and came back just before the crash for a summer job. I was going to save up and go to Thailand. I mean can you imagine that now? Where are all those gap years students now, eh?”

  “Hopefully one day you’ll be able to,” he said, “Once this is all over.”

  “Once this is all over,” she quoted, “I just saw one of my closest friends be shot in the head. I went to primary school with her. Lucy. We would play dolls together, we’d play in the woods behind her house and when we became teenagers we’d drool over the same boys and fight over the most banal things… fucking trivial things. And then I invite her to a party like this? I invite her to her fucking death.”

  “You couldn’t have known…”

  “Maybe not, but there was always the risk. I chose to risk her life for the sake of a fucking recruitment drive. I mean how pointless is that? Who the fuck would want to submit to our philosophy now? I’ve already imagined tomorrow’s headlines - Resistance Plot Intercepted, Hundreds of Lives Saved. And they’ll all believe it - lap it up like fucking cats at the cream! I mean why wouldn’t they?”

  “Anne, it doesn’t matter what they think. The whole country might believe we are terrorists - heck I fucking believed that right up until a few months ago - but you have to let go. Of course they are going to believe the media. To offer them proof of the truth would only serve to put their lives at risk.”

  Anne rested her head against the steering wheel, “You’re right. It’s just frustrating. I thought I was doing good. And now it’s all gone to shit. Everyone I supplied extra Rations to will probably either be arrested or go hungry. Anyone who might have believed me about The Resistance, well in their eyes I’ve lost all credibility. I’ve lost… everything.”

  Jack gently stroked the back of her hair to soothe her. Though he empathised with her completely, he was reticent to reveal their shared loss. He wanted to move forward, without dissecting his past mistakes.

  “My family… I can’t even say goodbye,” she cried, “They’ll be outcasts in the village from now on. Falsely labelled for my crimes.”

  Jack tried to think of something encouraging to say, but failed.

  “I’m sorry,” Anne cleared her throat and wiped the tears from her cheeks, “You don’t need me crying over my personal life.”

  “Was is really your birthday today?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Jack struggled to find the enthusiasm, but he wished her a Happy Birthday regardless. She gave a half smile and turned away to discreetly dry her eyes.

  “It’s been a pretty traumatic evening,” Jack laid his head back against the passenger window and stared up at the stars. “I wish I was up there, on some other planet. Anywhere has got to be a million times better than here, right?”

  “God you sound like a man who has already seen too much,” she laughed, “Either that or a miserable bastard.”

  “It’s probably both,” he smiled weakly. “You go in the back seat, I’ll try to stretch out here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely, get your butt in the back,” he insisted.

  Clamouring in between the front seats, Anne fell awkwardly into the back and nestled herself against a pillow she found there. Meanwhile Jack pulled his seat back and curled into the foetal position, pulling his jacket tightly around him so that not sliver of heat escaped his body. The clock must have already struck midnight. December twenty-seventh. When he woke on Boxing Day morning, the last place he expected to next rest his head was the middle of a heathery moor, somewhere near Fort William having experienced one of the most horrific moments in his life. If this was a way of life for the people in The Resistance, then he was not sure he wanted to be a part of it. His thundering heartbeat echoed a deeper thought: did he really want to be here?

  “Hey,” Anne whispered sleepily, “Is Jack your real name?”

  “Yeah, though today I seem to be called Charlie.”

  “Well at least I can change my name tomorrow,” Anne said, “Part of the reason Kyle and I came up with the fake engagement was to deter any suspicion when I had to leave the town. Everything I did was under my own name.”

  “Does it scare you? That you’ll need to invent a whole new person, to try and hide who you really are?”

  “No, I’ve been preparing for it for a while,” she said, “It was inevitable. I just never expected it to be un
der such… bloody circumstances that it would become necessary.

  Jack was brimming full of questions, but he could sense that Anne was growing weary and as she curled up into a more comfortable position he sat round and settled himself in for a long night of reflection.

  “We’ll… discuss… plans… in morning…” she was dozing off between words.

  “Night,” Jack feigned a yawn. He was too terrified to sleep.

  Regardless of how much energy he invested in concentrating on something, anything but reliving Euan’s brutal shooting, he still couldn’t shake the memories from his head. They were etched onto his retinas forever. Eyes open, eyes closed: a cocktail of blood and grey matter still spewed from the bullet hole.

  Morning arrived in a vortex of harsh sunlight. Jack’s eyes had scarcely been closed an hour before they were sharply awoken by the cruel light of day. All night he had been haunted by dark thoughts. He hadn’t been able to shake the memory of watching the CRU officer line up his victims before callously shooting them. It felt both distant and powerfully real; as if he had been watching the events unfold through someone else’s eyes. Except he had been there. He had heard their final words; he had seen the life be shot out of them and he had fled the scene for fear of his own life without a second thought to the bodies they had left behind. It had not been until they had pulled over for the night that the reality sank in and his mind accepted the chain of events. Only now, the next morning, did it feel as if it really happened.

  “Morning,” Jack stretched and peered round, only to find the back seat vacant. “Anne?”

  He looked out the window and scanned the area nearby, but there was no sign.

  “Anne?” he yelled, frantically orbiting the car in case it had obscured her from sight.

  There was nothing. From North to South, East to West, there was nothing but open moorland, bereft of trees and riddled with heather. Miles away on either side of the valley the hills swept up to the sky, but nothing but bare rock stared back at him.

  Had they come for her in the night? Had they found them? But why hadn’t they taken him? How hadn’t he woken up? He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Anne?” he shouted again.

  “Shut up, ya eejit!” her voice stilled his thumping heart.

  He swooped around just in time to see her head pop up from the heather about twenty or so metres from the road.

  “What you yelling for?” she dramatically leapt from foot to foot as she made her way back to him.

  “I thought… I thought you’d gone,” he said, still slightly shaken.

  Anne threw her hands out and twirled theatrically on the spot, “Why the fuck would I possibly wander on foot… here?”

  “Shut up, I was worried,” he said, quietly.

  She tapped him on the arm, affectionately, “I’m not going to leave you.”

  Jack nodded curtly and crawled back into the car, Anne back into the driving seat.

  “What were you doing?” he asked.

  “Uhm, what do you think?” she sniggered.

  “Oh, okay. Sorry.” Jack said, sitting back in the car, “What do we do now?”

  “Keep driving South,” she said, her tone suddenly serious, “Kyle’s right, we can’t go to Glasgow, it’s too risky. Newcastle isn’t safe right now either. The DD bombed a shopping mall the other week so the CRU will be on full alert. I heard a rumour that the Masked Man was hosting a rally in Leeds as well. Blackpool may be our safest bet - it’s been quiet for months.”

  They pulled on to the road and drove off down the valley. The atmosphere in the car was tainted with an intangible grief that neither of them wanted to address. Jack knew all too well what Anne had just lost. She might never see her family again. Wherever this war The Resistance was waging with the government was heading, Jack was now all too aware that the chances of either of them making it out alive was slim. The look the CRU officer had in his eye - a glint of mania, a twinkle of sadism - how could one organisation defeat that?

  They drove for miles before they passed any sign of civilisation. There were a few sporadic cottages and farmhouses, but it was over an hour until they drove through the first village. Though Jack was on edge, Anne reassured him that if they kept their cool, then they would be fine. As it was, there was little CRU presence in the village and the residents appeared to be more interested in harassing someone on the street to even notice that they had driven by.

  “Don’t you find this disconcerting?” Jack asked as rolling fields flanked them on either side. Grazing sheep and staring cows suspiciously presented no threat.

  “It is what it is,” Anne said, “Just be grateful that they haven’t caught us yet.”

  “Is that likely?” Jack looked at her apprehensively. He could see her temple throbbing with his incessant questions. His throat was clenched tightly and only her reassurances, however empty, provided any relief. Hours had passed since they woke and instead of feeling more confident in their escape, a ticking clock was ever quickening inside Jack’s head and sooner or later he was certain that their time would be up.

  “I don’t fucking know!” she roared, her bloodshot eyes pulsating, “This isn’t a fucking game. I’m trying my best here - I’m not a field agent. I’ve never been on the run before.”

  Jack turned to the window again. He felt embarrassed that he’d upset her. She was no more in control of her future as he was of his. They were alone on the road; on the run, fleeing from an unfathomable evil that Jack struggled to define. No amount of reading newspapers and ruthless athletics training had prepared him for this. His bones trembled with fear. Every corner they turned might be their last; a wrong turn and they could run directly into a CRU trap. They had no way of knowing if they were being sought after. For all either of them knew their faces may be plastered all over the media.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” Anne’s self control returned, “You’re scared, I get that. I should be more focussed.”

  “You don’t need to apologise to me,” he said as they whipped through a copse of trees.

  “I’ve… I’ve lost everything - my job, my family, my friends… Last night I thought I could keep it together, that I could at least make it to the next safe house but it’s fucking horrible. I keep… I keep seeing their faces, wherever I look and quite honestly the only thing keeping me from swinging into oncoming traffic is the fact that you’re sitting here.”

  Jack returned his focus to her and smiled weakly at her.

  “I know how you feel,” Jack said, “I’ve lost everything too - but you find a way to keep going, to keep fighting. It might just take you a while to work out exactly what for.”

  “I met Kyle at a party in Glasgow years ago,” she begun, “He and his girlfriend, Miriam, started chatting to me. I always knew they were quite political, but one evening when I thought they were taking me to the pub, they took me to someone’s flat and told me what they really did. Of course this was back before the government were interested in us. We were small scale. They opened my eyes to what Rations were really doing, to how ShutDown was manipulating us. From that day onwards I never looked back. I went home to Fort William and agreed to be their agent there, arranging extra Rations for the poor, supplying secret stashes of food for those who needed it. Those I could recruit, I did, but no one knew. My connections with the police were invaluable. I traded their secrets. My loyalty to The Resistance was unquestionable. However, until last night I never felt that raw hatred I know others in the organisation have. I’ve never wanted to bring this government down more than I do right now. I want to hound them until every single last one of them is hung for the crimes they’ve committed.”

  Taking a few deep breaths, Jack reflected on what she had said before he next spoke. Though an immature player to this game, he completely empathised with her hurt.

  “When they took Mary at work, I was suspicious. But I trusted them, the soldiers who carried her off. Surely she must’ve committed some
crime? Then they came for the neighbours - I can’t even remember their names now. Ration hoarders apparently. Then they took my friend, Scar, away and she just… disappeared. Then came Simon, a man guilty only of ending his wife’s pain - imprisoned for her murder. It didn’t matter what he said, his fate was marked the second his neighbours reported it. The cycle. The Martial Law. The Curfew. The Nightstalkers. The bombings, the media coverage and the scare mongering. I didn’t even know I lived in fear until I was completely removed from it and saw the world for what it was but if I’m honest? Until last night I’d forgotten what it was like to be scared. I’d forgotten what I was training for. Reading the newspapers these past few months just feels like I’ve been reading stories. I’d forgotten that people are dying for our cause; for our fight…”

  Anne stretched out her hand and took Jack’s, squeezing it gently.

  “If we make mistakes, people die. I wish I’d learnt that lesson before yesterday,” he continued, “I killed that poor boy because I was foolish enough to think he might believe.”

  “You didn’t pull the trigger, Jack,” she said, “That bastard would have killed him no matter what you had said to the boy. He was dead the second he was caught - it didn’t matter if he was guilty or innocent. That’s irrelevant to these people. But you know what? Be glad he shot him in the head because that is a far better fate than if they had sent him to one of the prison camps…”

  Jack clung on tightly to Anne’s hand, allowing himself to sink into the comfort from the touch of another human. It was the only thing keeping him connected to the real world. However, the real world had other plans to toy with his emotions. Ahead, and rapidly approaching them, was a traffic road sign listing the nearby towns. At the top of the list was one place he was not quite prepared to see. The white letters stared back at him goadingly as he tried to absorb their meaning. He found he struggled to define it, as if he had forgotten how to read.