The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “Stirling’s another twelve miles,” Anne said, reclaiming her hand to change gear.

  Jack suddenly felt cold and isolated, as if he were right back in the ditch, reaching out for his sister’s pulse again.

  “We’ll stop and get petrol here,” Anne ignorantly continued.

  As they drove into the grim, service station, Jack was filled with a deep sense of foreboding. Instantly spying the security cameras in the forecourt, he was careful to duck his head away from the windscreen and warned Anne to do likewise.

  “Here, take this,” she said, giving him a chunk of the money Kyle had given them. “If anyone’s got their face on the news, it’s going to be me. My family and friends will definitely know I’ve disappeared and it won’t take much for the CRU to cotton on to that coincidence.”

  “Alright,” he said, stunting his inner nerves, “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Casually, he got out of the car and pulled the hose from the stand and began to fill the car up until the tank was full. As he did so, a few other cars pulled in alongside him. Without much reason, he was immediately suspicious of everyone around him. He kept an eye on a miserable looking couple who appeared to be squabbling over how much petrol to buy. A solitary man also caused him some concern as he sat stationary in the driver’s seat without any indication that he would be moving soon. However, his mind was soon put at ease when a woman exited the shop and opened up the passenger door. The man leapt into life before driving off calmly.

  The CRU might be everywhere. They were before Jack was involved in The Resistance, and now that he was their population only seemed to double in public places. Father of four in the Renault Megane might be a CRU officer on his day off; Shirley Temple look-alike sitting awaiting the return of her husband in her Nissan Micra might be acting the part of put-upon, impatient wife. Knowing at any second they might be pounced upon, Jack replaced the hose back on the stand and casually wandered across to the shop, being careful to tuck the cash out of sight.

  A little bell rang when he entered and the shop assistant by the counter looked up immediately, registered who had entered before returning to the newspaper he was discreetly reading. There was something vaguely familiar about the assistant, and as drew closer, the man’s features were lighting little memory fires in his brain. It wasn’t too far-fetched that an old classmate had stayed in Stirling and found work in the local petrol station. If memory served him correctly, Jack’s old house was on the other side of town, which eased his panic somewhat. As close as he was to home, he was still far enough away to avoid bumping into any of his old neighbours who would surely - and potentially catastrophically - recognise him. However, luck had other plans.

  As he approached the counter, another customer cut in front of him, and, now seeing the assistant up close, Jack was more than happy to let the rudeness slide. The eyes bore a striking resemblance to a boy he once knew and if the man hadn’t spoken first, then his name badge would have surely have struck him with the same very sense of dread that he was now currently experiencing for standing not two metres in front of him was his best friend in high school. Harry Chalmers.

  “Is that everything for you today?” he droned at the customer ahead Jack.

  Meanwhile, Jack was swamped with shock, expecting Harry to recognise him at any moment. What was the probability in Harry even working at this petrol station at this exact point in time? Jack felt that the world was conspiring against him. As the customer stepped aside, the only thing that lay between him and his old friend was two metres of awkward deception.

  He stepped up to the counter, pretending to be distracted by a stand of chewing gums directly by him.

  “What pump?” Harry asked, bored beyond measure.

  “Four,” Jack said, glancing quickly outside to check.

  “Can I see your ID?”

  The pivotal moment had arrived. Though Jack had seen this moment coming as soon as Harry had opened his mouth, it still didn’t detract from the painful terror currently wriggling its way through Jack’s insides. Slipping his ID card onto the counter, Jack consciously clocked how long it would take him to flee the shop, jump into the car and speed down the road. They would have to dump the car and steal another though, but at least they wouldn’t have paid for the petrol. It was about the only positive thing he could add to his drastic plan.

  “Thanks,” Harry continued to drone, “That’ll be a hundred and six pounds please.”

  Jack slid the card back into his hand as he extracted the notes from his pocket with the other. His pulse was bombarding his artery walls. Any cholesterol he may have had was sure to be obliterated by the fierceness of his heartbeat.

  Receiving a few coins in change, Jack thanked his friend, daring to look him directly in the eye for the first time before turning his back on him and heading to the car. Just as the little bell chimed his departure, however, Harry’s voice called to him from across the shop.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  Jack’s face fell. His heart sank. It was over now. Harry had recognised him and must surely know his ID was fake. Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared to make a run for it.

  “You left a twenty pound note on the counter,” Harry called.

  Jack turned around to see his friend waving the cash in the air.

  “Keep it,” Jack smiled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Seriously?” Harry himself beamed delightfully.

  Before he could chance another misfortune, Jack abandoned the heart-warming sight of his old friend and strode across the forecourt back to the car, where Anne was waiting anxiously.

  “What was that about?” she was peering at Harry through the windscreen. “Did he question your ID?”

  “Nope,” Jack said, “I’ll explain once we’re back on the road.”

  Anne took no persuasion, pulling out of the station and hurtling back on to the main road.

  “So what happened?”

  “The man in the shop was my best friend in high school,” Jack said and, seeing Anne’s mortified reaction, hastened to complete his story, “He didn’t even recognise me though.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted for you?”

  Jack laughed and all the tension was released from his body, “Aye, the little bastard! Damn well should have recognised me!”

  “We can have him killed if it makes you feel any better?” Anne joked, “Or maybe dob him into the CRU?”

  “For what, failing to recognise a terrorist?”

  “Damn straight!” she grinned.

  Residential areas swept passed them as they approached the outskirts of Glasgow. Row upon row of terraced deprivation, tower blocks of drug abuse and sprinklings of safe little suburban streets. Nearly eight years had passed since he last was anywhere near this part of the world. It hadn’t changed: it never changed. It was one of those places that would always be encapsulated by poverty, rampant with crime and terrorised by poor education.

  The sun was breaking through the cloud just ahead of them. It acted as a shaft of beauty contrasting a world of concrete. They continued, exhaustedly down the motorway towards the English border.

  Jack kept a dedicated watch on the wing mirrors, checking every few miles that no one was following them. It was an unlikely scenario that anyone was for they had plenty of opportunity to stop and arrest them, but it kept his mind occupied and provided a distraction to his morose thoughts of how or if Kyle had escaped. They weren’t likely to hear from him until they arrived at Blackpool, but even then he knew that the chances of finding out his friend’s fate immediately were slim.

  The bleak countryside soon returned. Brown, decaying bracken broken only by spindly, lifeless trees and flooded, muddy fields cluttered with rusting farming equipment. Telephone poles followed them on their journey, a constant reminder that civilisation was not as far away as he’d like to believe. Above, a murky sky reflected a murkier world. Promises of rain showers ahead as cars sped by in
the opposite direction with their windscreen wipers battling the weather.

  The farther away from danger they drove, the more a sadness gripped him. It was a slow, burning acceptance that this was not just a single journey for him, but the start of entirely new one. In retrospect, Jack’s time cooped up in HQ was comfortable. Though constantly vigilant towards unanticipated visitors, he had been wrapped up in a blanket for too long. Maybe Kyle didn’t want him to face what reality was like outside the bunker; maybe he knew that Jack wasn’t ready. Either way, it left Jack alone and afraid, sitting in a stolen car with a complete stranger driving him to England. His life could not have been more different to the one he held a year ago.

  Ten miles from the border, Anne began yawning. Neither of them had eaten since the previous day. Recalling his last meal, Jack was surprised to realise that it was Christmas dinner. All he had consumed on Boxing Day had been cups of tea, beer and water. Still, hunger was a distant fascination to him. Though he sensed his stomach grumbling, his mind was not ready to accept food quite yet. It was still squeamish with the images of the previous night interspersedly flashing through reality.

  “Do you want me to drive?” he said, seeing Anne yawn for the fifth time in two minutes.

  “No, it’s okay,” she suppressed a sixth, “It’s keeping me distracted.”

  Jack didn’t need to ask from what. He let her be and sank back in his seat into a yawn of his own.

  Shortly afterwards they saw the border sign appear on the horizon. England. Its rolling hills and green fields identical to the barren ones on this side of the border. The frontier passed by in an anticlimactic blur. He couldn’t even claim it as the furthest from home he had been in years for he was sure that HQ was far up in the North West coast of Scotland, hundreds of miles from Edinburgh.

  They started seeing the signs for Blackpool just after Carlisle. Every field tumbled into one another. Trees merged together, the road expanded into one long, winding snake. His eyes were relenting to his exhaustion. Still, he kept watch on the mirrors, mentally logging cars he’d not seen before and keeping track of them until he grew bored. No one was following them.

  He didn’t realise he’d shut his eyes until Anne was shaking him awake. The car was stationary.

  “Wake up,” she said cheerily, “We’re here.”

  Suddenly alert, Jack pulled himself up from the slump he had managed to curl himself into whilst he was asleep. It was dark now. They had parked in a large, mostly empty car park. He heard the distinct noise of rattling trolleys being steered across tarmac.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he apologised, feeling that he had let her down.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she patted him on the head, “But we have to leave now.”

  She got out of the car as Jack followed suit.

  “Looks grim,” he said, observing the glistening amber tarmac. It must’ve just stopped raining.

  “It’s Blackpool, the arse end of it as well, what do you expect?” Anne said, checking in each window of the car. “Right, we’re clear.”

  “Clear of what?”

  “Time to disappear,” she whispered, slithering past him and along the outskirts of the car park.

  He had to jog to catch up with her, “We’re just leaving it there?”

  “Of course,” she said, taking a sudden right through a gap in the hedgerow.

  They were out on to the main road now. Headlamps zoomed by. Across the road was a set of rundown flats. Sad lamplight spilled from their blind-clad windows as grey mould clung to the ancient harling and rust trails trickled down the side of drainpipes.

  He felt lost in another world. Having spent so long in Edinburgh he had quite forgotten that not everywhere was as grand and inspirational as the cobbled streets of the Old Town or the magnificent architecture North of Princes Street. True, he had seen glimpses of the other world on their journey today, but it was another thing wandering amongst it; and it was quite another knowing that it was going to be his home for the immediate future.

  “Where does your ID say you’re from?”

  “Oban,” he replied.

  “Great, not a million miles away from the Fort,” she whispered, “Right, remember our cover story if we’re stopped. We are both visiting a mutual friend for New Year.”

  “If they ask, what’s their name?”

  “John?” she shrugged, “John Martin? Probably one of them around here. And from now on, that’s what we mention. We’re heading to John’s. It’s about fifteen minutes’ walk, okay. Don’t speak to me unless you have to… and keep to the shadows if you can.”

  With great confidence, Anne strode across the main road and over to the darker side of the street. Jack followed, hopping in haste and scared of being left behind.

  Turning left into the dense maze of terraced houses, the gradient of the poverty line slipped a little further. Knotted bushes crawled up weather battered bricks, smeared by old age and crumbling at the corners. Gardens which years ago might have been full of shooting tulip and daffodil bulbs were instead buried under piles of long-forgotten refuse and belligerent weeds. It was a sad sight to wander through, notably even sadder for those who called these streets home.

  A bitterly cold wind clawed round the corner. Droplets of rain spattered down from the cloudy skies. There were no stars out tonight. The moonlight barely penetrated the misty heavens as the two of them walked side by side in absolute silence, heads dedicated to the ground and Anne’s feet keeping the beat. Quite where they were headed, Jack did not know. As instructed, he did not ask. He could only speculate what the Blackpool safehouse was like and in his mind he had formed a replica of the Headquarters bunker in his mind, but perhaps underneath a terraced house instead of a farmyard? How secure the safehouses in the cities and towns were was another question firmly dwelling on his mind. At least at HQ they had miles of wild countryside to shield them from prying eyes. How well protected were they going to be?

  Through the labyrinth they continued, with one street quickly merging into another the journey seemed to take forever. The woeful houses were only broken up sporadic ventures of commerce - the ghost of a corner shop, boarded up and hungry for a quick death; closed banks or florists devoid of life and colour.

  After nearly twenty minutes walking, Anne stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, and turned round to him.

  “Hug me,” she said, “Check for anyone behind me, even in the houses, and I’ll do likewise.”

  Jack grabbed her tightly. It was an odd embrace because he was barely registering it at all as he was concentrating on surveying the streets ahead of him, and spying for any peeping eyes through netted curtains. It was all clear. Instinct told Jack that he shouldn’t be comfortable by that.

  “There’s someone just at their door,” Anne said, her voice deep against his neck, “I think he’s just looking for his keys… yes. He’s gone in. Clear on your side?”

  “Yes,” he said, not sure what was going to happen next.

  “Number fourteen, on the left here,” she said, pulling away from their embrace as if it were a contract agreement come to a natural conclusion, “As soon as the door opens, greet the person and pretend that you know him, reach to pat them on the arm and then squeeze their arm very gently four times.”

  “Okay,” Jack elongated his accent in minor alarm at the complexity.

  Taking lead, he climbed the steps leading up to number fourteen’s front door and knocked twice. He looked shiftily at Anne as he waited to hear movement from within. The place looked and sounded empty, but then maybe that was the idea.

  Without prior indication that there was anyone on the other side of it, the door slipped open and a tall, muscular man appeared in its frame. His head scraped the lintel.

  Jack sprang into action, “Lovely to see you again!” he said, reaching for the man’s arm and gently squeezing it four times.

  The man, who was grinning, then beamed even more dramatically, waving his arm
s around.

  “Come in, come in! So glad you could make it!”

  They rushed in from the cold and shivered slightly at the temperature variation. Inside was warm and snug, a stark contrast to the wintry spell outside. The man shut the door and led them through to the dark hallway into the living room, which could not have been farther from Jack’s imagining of it. It was a simple lounge with a three piece suite and a television sat smugly in the corner. A narrow mantelpiece crowned a gas fireplace, upon which were rows of family photographs and ornaments. It was perfectly ordinary in every way.

  “Welcome to you both,” the man spoke with a soft accent, “My name is Hamid.”

  “I’m Anne and this is Jack,” she introduced them both.

  Hamid smiled haplessly at them both, “Where have you journeyed from?”

  “Scotland,” Jack said.

  “Ah, then I think I know why you are here,” Hamid said, reaching for a newspaper, “You are both very lucky people.”

  Anne snatched the newspaper out of his hands and skimmed the headlines.

  “Fucking hell,” she fell back into one of the sofas.

  Jack stole a glance at the newspaper and wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw.

  Fifteen Murdered by The Resistance at Foot of Ben Nevis

  Not wholly unexpected, it was the first paragraph that riled him most.

  CRU Officers have revealed that several locals to the Fort William area were involved in the attack that took place on Boxing Day. Victims were lured to their deaths under the guise of a party for Anne Gilmore, who is currently wanted by the police. During the evening, The Resistance, led by locals Euan Patterson, Lucy McNeil and James Kirkland, opened fire on the guests, killing fifteen before the police arrived at the scene. Patterson, 17, and Lucy, 28, took their own lives whilst resisting arrest....