The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  And then he remembered the day he had just lived through. Waking up in the isolated valley, frozen with only the cold company of nature. Driving through the towns and villages, ever alert for the presence of a CRU division. The panic of exchanging his ID with his old high school friend. The fear he felt when he spied the surveillance cameras at the petrol station. It was all real and not imagined nor manipulated by others.

  He recalled the blind pandemonium when the CRU burst into the Ben Nevis Inn. Witnessing the five captives being knelt down in a line and executed… that was real. What he felt when he saw the bullets fly into each of their heads was not some lie told to him. It had happened. It was not tarnished by Alex’s trail of deceit, but was a very real, very sickening event that he knew he would struggle to erase from his mind. But as Hamid had said, would it not be insulting to forget?

  A cold chill passed through him. He stood up and paced the kitchen to keep himself warm. It was strange being in someone else’s house. Headquarters had quite a different atmosphere. Once aware of the bunker underground and the guards that secretly patrolled the perimeter, the illusion that it was anything more than a simple farmyard failed. Jack couldn’t see the place as an outsider would anymore. But this terraced house in Blackpool? It was someone’s home, converted into a haven for people like him. Jack reflected on Hamid’s courage to send his family away and to open up his home to The Resistance. He had never been that courageous in all his life and he felt that his time was overdue.

  Spotting a box of teabags on the counter, a spark of hope lit up inside him. He hadn’t had a drop of tea in weeks, not since the Kyle had brought in the last batch in November. Filling the kettle, he eagerly anticipated it boiling. As he did so, he searched the cupboards for a mug, when he opened up one and discovered something deeply disturbing within.

  Silver glinting in the kitchen’s half light, it lured his hand in dangerously. He’d never held a gun before and as he picked it up he found it surprisingly heavy. He dare not clasp his finger anywhere near the trigger in fear of spontaneously setting it off. Instead, he carefully placed it on the counter and stared at it for a few minutes; the kettle long since boiled, and steam rising from it like an old train.

  An idea had formed and he was threading it through his mind, sewing a vengeful plan. Anger returned to him like a tsunami upon the shore, washing away all doubt. He caressed the barrel. Revenge could be carried out at the slightest pull of the trigger. A careful aim and a steady hand, and he could avenge Euan Patterson’s death. It was nearing Curfew. The Nightstalkers would be out in full force, ushering everyone back to their homes. It was the perfect opportunity. It would give them a message: a message that perhaps Alex should have already given them by now.

  He grabbed the gun and headed straight for the back door. It led out into a little vestibule area, complete with numerous pairs of shoes and a ragged old doormat. Outside, he could taste salt in the air. The shoreline must not be far away.

  The backdoor lead out to a small alleyway, shielded from public view by a red brick wall on either side. No one saw him as he skulked down the passageway, emerging into an empty street. The night encompassed him; he was as if a whisper in the wind. The gun was tight against his chest, his jacket shielding it from sight. The weapon frightened him.

  His plan ended at the foot of the passageway. He was wandering past a row of graffiti ridden garages; gang tags on the flaking paint like fungus. Weeds sprouted forth between the cracking tarmac. Knotted roots of nearby trees wrangled around lampposts, soon to be cut off for ShutDown. True darkness was only a matter of minutes away. Ahead, as the little lane he was wandering down opened up on to the road, a few Curfew stragglers were being herded by a couple of men in dark uniforms. Nightstalkers.

  Jack jumped out of side, pressing himself against an old, crumbling wall. From here, he could only catch a glimpse of the road, with the odd shape and shadow disappearing quickly as the group hurried home. With a sigh of quiet relief, he saw the silhouetted shape of a rifle follow where the others had gone. Creeping along the edge of the wall, he side-stepped closer to the main road, keeping to the shadows and crouching slightly. His heart was racing with adrenaline.

  Reaching the main road, he carefully peered round the corner to catch a glimpse of the road behind him. Ahead was clear, save for the specs of grey that were two Nightstalkers. Behind him was clear also. Empty, tranquil and void of anything to fear. It was the logical exit strategy, but that’s not where he chose to put his feet. Instead, he carried on in the footsteps of the very men he feared.

  The streetlights popped out. All was now completely dark, save the stray moonlight sprinkled on the rooftops. As of three seconds ago, he was officially breaking the law. In his head, he couldn’t settle on what that meant. An unnerving guilt plucked away, but it was more an intrinsic guilt than one he actively participated in. It was a guilt he would have felt six months ago, before he knew what he did now.

  The Nightstalkers were crossing the next street ahead. Jack was partially submerged in the deep shadow created by a row of bare rowan trees that overhung from an adjacent park. He was about six metres behind them when they turned left down another street. Jack was extremely wary. He had no plan to adhere to. He had no clue what he would do if they caught him. His ID may be passable, but he was not remotely prepared with what to say to them. Was it a case of keeping quiet and responding only when asked? Confidence, isn’t that was Kyle said? He wished his friend was here. And suddenly the anger in him triggered another layer of hate and removed another veneer of morality. The CRU, Nightstalkers - they were all branches from the same poisonous tree. To hurt one would hurt the other.

  There was a gap in the fence that surrounded the little park. Seeing that it ran parallel with the road the Nightstalkers were on, he slipped through the gap, catching his clothes a little on the frayed wood. There was no way to tell what was in front of him. Hands outstretched in front of him, he felt for obstacles in his way as he headed diagonally across the park. Stumbling over tree roots and ill placed benches, he eventually found himself drawing closer towards the opposite end of the park. He felt grass beneath his feet, as he left deep, muddy footprints. Grabbing on to the bough of a tree for support, he reached out his hand and felt planed wood against his fingertips. The other side.

  A brief spark of light followed by a swirling of smoke. Jack inhaled sharply as tobacco reached him far quicker than he’d anticipated. He leant against the fence, kneeling in the thick mud.

  “How’s the missus?” the man’s deep voice rumbled through the thin slice of wood that lay between him and Jack.

  “Still sick,” the other officer said, “I ain’t never see her like this before. Properly ill.”

  “Sorry to hear that, has she been to the doctor?”

  “Yeah, but they just gave her painkillers and told her that’d go away, but it’s been weeks. Properly weeks,” he said.

  “I was reading this article in the newspaper the other week, about how our immune systems are suffering because we’re living on Rations,” the officer said, “Maybe it’ll just take a while longer than you’re used to?”

  Jack was breathing as shallowly as he could.

  “It’ll be a long night for you tonight then,” the first man spoke again.

  “Every night out here is a long fucking night,” he said, “How many do you reckon we’ll get tonight?”

  “Oh, I reckon at least three,” the first man said, “Last night was pretty great for the guys up in Scotland I hear. Frank told me earlier that they got nine of the bastards in the space of two hours!”

  “Nine, nice!” the other man laughed with delight, “If only things were that exciting around here. Best we get is scummy drunks who’ve passed out in an alleyway. Wish we were out fighting them, you know? Doing something proper.”

  On the other side of the fence, Jack was growing increasingly angry. They were revelling in the Fort William incident, hailing it as victory. Sweat trickled down his
forehead. Not even half a metre lay between him and certain arrest. He touched the gun through his jacket. How easily could he just slip it out and fire it through the fence at them? Their loud, victorious voices would be silenced in a second, in the sound of a shot.

  There was the smallest, insignificant hole in the fence. Jack pressed his eye up against it and for the first time he saw the faces of the men he hoped to kill. Though partially obscured in darkness, the two looked of vastly different ages. One was well built and middle aged whilst the other was much younger, wiry thin and tall.

  “Oh, did I tell you? My wife’s got into the Community Hub,” the eldest said, flicking away his cigarette and smudging it with the tip of his toe.

  “She must be pleased, it’s very difficult to get into I hear?” the other said, “Urgh, well I suppose we should head out on patrol. Maybe we’ll catch one of those Resistance or DD members, or maybe just another bloody drunk.”

  They turned their backs to Jack and carried on down the road. Rising to his feet again, knees cracking and aching under the strain of remaining perfectly still, Jack perched his chin on the edge of the fence and watched for a number of seconds as his conscience wrestled itself. He could simply pull out the gun, aim it and pull the trigger. Their bodies would fall to the ground and that would be it. They deserved it for who they worked for, for what they thought and for what they had said.

  Calculatedly and yet strangely without much dedicated thought, Jack extracted the gun from his jacket and rested his wrist on the top of the fence for a steadier aim. Partially closing one eye, he focused on the two figures ahead of him. They were still within range, probably. Inside his ribcage, his heartbeat thundered. His throat tightened and as the blood pumped furiously around his body, he began to feel lightheaded. His finger was just shy of the trigger. What was it that Alex had said? Judge me again when you’ve killed a man. The moment of judgement lay a few terrifying seconds away. He hadn’t even put much thought into what would happen afterwards. Drop the gun and run? Run back to the safehouse? Pack and leave? Find Alex, find Kyle? And then what? He reinforced his resolve and re-focussed on the two state criminals ahead. He was ready. He thought of Euan, he thought of Scar, he thought of Simon and he was ready. His finger poised on the trigger… three… two…

  Suddenly he was yanked backwards on to the ground. The gun tumbled from his hand as his head slammed against the bough of a nearby tree. All that raced through his head was that he’d been caught. Another Nightstalker patrol had grabbed him and he was going to be arrested. This was it. The end of his pathetic little life. He couldn’t protest or wriggle his way out of what he’d done this way.

  Before he could react verbally, a hand clamped across his mouth.

  “What the fuck were you playing at?” she whispered furiously.

  Relief by comparison it may be, but that was not what Jack felt when he realised that it had been Emma who had interfered.

  He pushed her hand away from his face, “I was fucking killing those bastards, that’s what I was doing!”

  “And for what?” she raged at him as silently as she could, “What could you possibly have hoped to achieve by this?”

  Jack stared back at her through the darkness. He didn’t think he had to say it to her.

  “Oh right,” she said, her tone resonating her revelation, “To satiate your lust for revenge? You think killing them will cancel out all the hatred you have in your heart for what happened the other night? Kyle told me all about it.”

  “He’s alive?”

  “Fuck you, you don’t have a right to know anything about Kyle right now,” she spat.

  “Why are you being like this - I thought you’d be with me! Aren’t they who we’re fighting? Aren’t the Nightstalkers and the CRU are our enemies? What do you care if I kill them or not?”

  Emma crouched beside me and grabbed the gun that had been lying on the grass. She held it aloft.

  “What do I care? I fucking care about what I do. I care about you. I still care about what’s right and wrong,” she said, “Those guys out there, do you know what they are doing?”

  “Arresting innocent people! I heard them, they revelled in the news that nine had been caught last night!” he roared back at her.

  “They are doing their fucking job, Jack,” she said, “They might be wrong, but they are only doing as their told. You really want to kill someone who hasn’t even been given a choice of what to believe?”

  “But they should know what they’re doing!”

  “Did you?” she snapped back her retort, “Did you see it without someone telling you? No, that’s not how I fucking recall it at all, Jack. Don’t even try to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong because you’ve only been doing this for five fucking minutes.”

  Emma stood up, turning her back on Jack was rapidly sinking into shame. He was bitterly angry with her, not because he hated what she had said, but because he knew that she was right.

  Mud squelched around him. His head was clouded by the pain of hitting the tree.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Emma said, sharply, tucking the gun into her jacket pocket.

  Jack reluctantly rose to his feet. It was dangerous to be outside, even more so than it had been five minutes ago, but at the same time he took no joy in returning home with Emma.

  “We need to hurry,” she said, glancing furtively around the fence on the side of the park Jack had originally entered. “All clear.”

  Jack remained silent for nearly the whole journey. He didn’t want any more of Emma’s lectures. They came across no one on their surreptitious walk back to the safe house. Keeping to the shadows and being careful when turning corners or traversing roads, Emma was certain that no one had seen either of them. Sneaking back down the little red bricked alleyway, it was a relief when they were back in the kitchen of the safe house. Jack immediately slumped into a dining chair.

  The back door had not so much as shut before she reeled on him.

  “You could have been killed out there,” she said, pulling up a chair beside him, “Don’t you understand what kind of danger you were in?”

  Jack remained silent. He had nothing to say.

  “Please listen to me, Jack,” she shouted at him, “I’m only angry at you because I care. Killing those men out there… it would have been needless. That’s not what we’re about. That’s not what you’re about either, Jack.”

  “I just wanted to do some good,” he said, “The other… the other night I saw…”

  “Kyle told me,” Emma outstretched her hand and placed it on Jack’s, “It’s okay. I understand. The first time is the hardest. You can’t understand why, though you could search for reasons for a hundred years and still never get the answers you want. It just happened.”

  Jack gulped back the tears, “I saw on the news… they are blaming that poor boy for it all… his own mother… it’s disgusting… and it’s like we can’t touch them… we just hand out leaflets and that’s it…”

  “You’re new to this, far newer than you think,” Emma said, “Kyle may have been training you up but that’s nothing compared to what it’s like out here in the real world. To always be watching your back, recounting every detail of your made up personal life to add a bit of backstory to this fake ID in your pocket on the off-chance you’ll be stopped. Constantly worrying what your family is doing and if they are safe. Watching your friends die or be caught when you have to run - because it’s either you or them and as hateful as that decision is, it isn’t really any decision at all because it’ll always be you. It always has to be.”

  “And what about making a difference?” Jack asked.

  “I wish I could tell you it was worth it,” she began, “If I’m honest, I don’t think we are going to win… this whole society… it’s so ingrained. It’s everywhere, you can’t avoid it. Rations, Curfew, Shutdown yeah they are the obvious ones… but have you watched any television lately? It’s not just on the news, it’s on the dramas, the soaps and
the films. How to eradicate something that intrinsic? But that won’t stop me fighting. I’d rather be on the losing side than on a side that I didn’t believe in…”

  Jack sat and absorbed her words. It was difficult to empathise with her. It was difficult to feel anything but shame.

  “What happened tonight… can we keep that strictly between us?” he asked.

  Emma nodded, “Speaking of which…”

  She got up and went over to the kitchen cupboards to replace the gun.

  “Hamid always keeps it in this cupboard,” she said, opening the one where Jack had found it.

  “You’ve been here before?” he asked.

  “Many times,” she said, “It’s the best place to stop over at if you’re heading into Scotland.”

  “How did you know where to find me?” Jack asked the question that only suddenly occurred to him.