The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “And what if you just want to let me out?”

  “Then I’ll just talk to you,” he said, smiling, “I’ll make a couple of stops along the way for you to stretch your legs and grab some food. Are you alright for now?”

  Jack nodded, settling himself into a more comfortable position as Tobias brought the door down and all descended into black. All he could hear was his own breath and the muffled sound of footsteps on gravel before the car door shut and the engine burst into life.

  The metal gripped in his hand weighed heavily on him. It was defensive, he reassured himself, but an equally paranoid segment of his brain was intrigued by it. It had the power to kill: more than he’d ever appreciated before. Guns were from Hollywood. Guns were owned by CRU officers and Martial Law soldiers. Guns were for the battlefield. But he already was on the battlefield. He had been for years.

  The journey was humbling. He lay on his back as the deep vibrations channelled through his body. He felt every gradient of the road; every twist and turn and every troublesome noise of the engine. The darkness was both meddlesome and relieving. With no distractions, he had nothing else to do but think; contemplate his actions, accept what he had now become and remember what he had lost.

  Jack Blackwood was murderer. Maybe not callous, maybe not cold… but he’d deliberately taken a life and given the opportunity, he would take it again. He felt the power wield its way, almost interwoven, into his consciousness. It suddenly seemed a lifetime ago that he was in love with Eliza, wishing his days away through passive regret in an immobile life. At some point he’d lost the essence of that pathetic man he’d strove to create; the one who worked tirelessly just to afford to get drunk; the one who made a career out of stupid mistakes. Where he had gone he had no clue and as the miles swept beneath his back, he realised that he didn’t entirely miss him. At long last he felt something; it was a slow burning realisation that he’d only just began to comprehend. He was part of something bigger than himself, and that comforted him to a degree… but until now he didn’t appreciate that in the short time he’d been with The Resistance, he’d made more of his life than he ever had before. Jack Blackwood had, not two hours previously, been called a hero by a man who had seen too many winters to be fooled by an imposter.

  Hours into the journey, Jack was sweltering in the heat. He’d napped for a while, and wasn’t entirely conscious of the amount of time that had passed since the cottage. Instead he’d decided that three hours had passed - it was at least a number he could reference as the tedious journey continued.

  The gun lay by his side - after a while he’d stopped holding it. He was less frightened than he was when he’d first climbed into the car. The journey must be going smoothly. Tobias hadn’t said a word since the start and Jack was adamant that it was a policy that should be discontinued.

  “How are you doing out there?” he shouted.

  It took a moment for Tobias to respond, “Pretty good! We’ve made it to England already. How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad!” he shouted. “I’ve had a little sleep, but there’s not really much else going on here!”

  “Do you want me to stop for a while?” he said, “It’s looking fairly clear!”

  Ten minutes later they pulled over. The boot opened and Tobias helped him to his feet. They were standing in a windswept moor. Nothingness spread out to the tips of the horizon. Brown bracken smothered maroon heather; long grass weaved its way deceptively throughout the moorland. Everything in sight was tinged with a colour of damp.

  Tobias thrust some food supplies and water into Jack’s hand, “Please, eat.”

  Ravenous, Jack consumed the pathetic ham sandwich before drowning it in a few mouthfuls of water.

  “Thank you,” he said, “For all this.”

  “It’s my job,” Tobias recited.

  “No,” Jack said, “It’s not. You aren’t supposed to be smuggling me across country. How old are you? Twenty? You’re meant to be getting pissed with your friends, travelling the world and having fun. You shouldn’t be here.”

  For a moment, Tobias let his guard slip, and he stared off into the steel horizon, “Maybe,” he said, sighing deeply, “But I’m not part of the generation who made it to Thailand.”

  Jack met his eye and his throat was caught on the real tragedy of the world they inhabited. There were deaths, there was poverty; but it was like Martin had said only that morning, that after all that he’d seen, he just wanted to watch something grow.

  Back in the car, another few hours passed. They arrived in Windsor, with no hiccup or delay. Tobias changed his ID and travel licence at nearby safehouse before they set off again for London. Jack kept a tight grip on his gun for this segment of the journey for even he could not deny the dangers they faced.

  However, the journey proved to be calm, and strangely uninhibited. When Tobias finally stopped and opened the boot, Jack was struck by the amber streetlight. Night had arrived, quietly and unannounced.

  “We’re here,” Tobias said, reaching into the boot and helping Jack out.

  London. It smelled the same as when he’d left it. Nearly a month had passed and as he settled his soles on the pavement, he remember the last time he’d been here. The stress, the panic - all paled in comparison to the current moment.

  This was the first time he’d arrived, with all the knowledge of what it felt like to take a life. It was clichéd, perhaps even pathetic, but he could not help noticing the subtle differences. As he stood up, he felt both strengthened and weakened by his deed. Since the morning, he had no way of knowing what information the CRU had on him. Surely they must have deduced The Resistance had played a part somehow - after all, their entire plan was betrayed to by someone and after a few hours locked away in darkness, Jack had a fair idea by who.

  “This way, sir,” Tobias said.

  Jack looked up around him and saw that they were in far more affluent an area than the safehouses he was used to in London.

  “Where are we?” he asked, seeing a silver Mercedes scoot by along the road.

  “Mayfair,” he said, “Quick, we need to get inside before Curfew.”

  They entered through an ominous black door. Chequered floors lead up to a spiral staircase, the third floor of which they ascended to before arriving at an oak finished door, the numbers thirty-three emblazoned on them. Tobias knocked three times.

  The door opened, a set of teeth beaming at them; blue eyes orbiting above.

  “Finally,” the man said, “We’ve been worried.”

  Jack followed Tobias through, taking in the richness of the room. Wealth dripped from the ceilings; it was encrusted in the cornices, it ran the length of every room; it billowed as the curtains did in the gentle wind and shone off the surfaces and brightened every room.

  “Devin’s the name,” the be-toothed man said, holding out his hand, “But there’s no introduction as to who you are….”

  Devin’s arm widened theatrically to the television beaming out colours and sound.

  It took only seconds for Jack to realise exactly what his host had meant.

  “.... As Prime Minister Cameron Snowden revealed this afternoon, The Resistance have claimed ownership of the brutal murder of Home Secretary, Quentin Robson. Images release from CCTV show several men infiltrating the estate, before one of the armed assailants shot Quentin dead. The CRU are working closely alongside the police to establish the identity of Quentin Robson’s killer....”

  The media, the government; it didn’t really matter which one was lying or delaying the truth: for the rest of the world there was no denying the clarity of the images taken by the CCTV cameras. Jack recognised himself. Alex probably did. The sting of realisation that Eliza more than likely saw him too was a little too much for him to bear. But it was him, and anyone who had ever met him also knew.

  Jack felt gripped by paranoia, but remained strangely calm.

  He ventured further into the wonderful apartment, his eyes alight with awe and surpri
se at every turn. It was as if the recession had never hit this flat; but had flattened all else like a tsunami crashing against the shore.

  “You must be hungry,” Devin said, smiling, “What do you want?”

  In reality Jack was far from starving. Instead, he sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the television, preparing himself for the next time his pixelated face appeared on the screen.

  “Or something to drink?” Devin prompted.

  “Whatever,” he said, “Just give me a moment to think.”

  Devin marched off to the kitchen. Jack felt odd to be ordering someone around, especially in their own home. However, Tobias sat beside him and seemed to connect with him on some level.

  “You don’t remember, do you?” he asked.

  Jack turned to him, not understanding the question.

  “I can’t say I’ve lived through it all, I can’t really say that I’m old enough to understand anything of what you are feeling,” Tobias said, “But I meant what I said earlier, that I am in awe of you. That we all are. Except, I might have one more reason than most to be in awe, and I think you should know it before… before it all gets hellish for you…”

  Tobias pointed at the television, flickering images of the assault on the estate melted into view as an angry narrative overlapped.

  “We spent a few days together a long time ago,” he said, “You saved my life.”

  Jack drew a blank. He had spent so many days with so many faces, it was hard to remember everyone.

  “It’s okay,” Tobias continued, looking a little dismayed, “I wasn’t sure you’d remember. I guess running from the CRU is something you do all the time, but it was a big deal for me. That night changed my life, in so many ways.”

  Jack felt bad for not remembering him, though now that he focussed on the boy’s features he began to see a trace of familiarity. A wave of shock smacked Jack in the face. Tobias. Toby. He’d been so caught up in his own fucking problems he’d not recognised the person in front of him.

  “Toby - I’m so sorry, of course I remember that fucking horrific night,” he said.

  Instantly Tobias’s lips spread into a wild smile.

  “Since when have you been going by Tobias anyway?”

  His cheeks struck crimson, “I thought it’d sound more mature.”

  “Definitely! How are you doing though? What have you been up to?”

  Under different circumstances the response might have been anecdotes of university, late night adventures he had had or terrible encounters with women and dating.

  “It’s going really well,” Toby said, “After you left me in Blackpool, Hamid showed me the ropes and eventually he shipped me out to a training camp in the Peak District.”

  “Yikes, how did you find that? My training was pretty intense.”

  “It was so tough, but so rewarding. I’ve been helping out in loads of missions since, taking information from different locations and even meeting some low level informants. You really saved my life that night, I mean it. In so many ways, you transformed the way I thought about life. I often wondered if I’d ever get the chance to thank you in person - I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally be able to do this.”

  He extended his hand. Jack shook it, feeling strangely proud even though he dismissed the extent of influence he had over this boy.

  “Have you had any contact with the rest of your family?” he asked.

  “My sister’s alive,” he said, “That much I know. But my mum - she was arrested in the morning and I’ve not been able to find her in the system. It’s like there is no record of her at all.”

  It was a story that was banally familiar; like an old joke or the same film repeated over and over.

  “Keep searching,” he patted Toby on the arm, wishing he could have said something more poignant instead of returning a grim look of understanding.

  A moment later Devin returned, drinks tray in hand.

  “Cause for celebration, I think!” he said gleefully, “We can have a cheeky one before the others arrive.”

  “Others?” Jack said, apprehensively.

  “Just a few, of the top guard, you know,” he said, “We need to discuss strategy ASAP.”

  Jack wished he was ignorant enough not to understand what Devin was implying. In reality, Jack had not put much thought into organising this. All he had wanted was safe travel to a place in London. Somewhere up in Scotland, Alex was recuperating and Jack had already made arrangements to be acting leader.

  “Can I ask who is going to be here?” he said, taking a drink from the tray. It was red wind. He hated it, but he felt that he’d made his decision and didn’t want to back down.

  “Melanie Stark, Kim Gamblin, Peter Hannay and Ryan Cage.”

  “What about Lana?”

  Devin knitted his eyebrows in confusion, “Sorry, I’m not familiar with that name?”

  “She runs the safehouse we set up together, it’s in Southwark.”

  Devin raised his eyebrow even further, “I’ll check and see if we can bring her along.”

  “When do the others arrive?”

  “Within the hour,” he said, “Curfew isn’t far away so they have to be.”

  Jack took a gulp of wine.

  “Fine, then we need to set out an agenda.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” Devin reiterated, “What would you like to say?”

  Jack rose to his feet and began to circle the room. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but had no clue as to how to articulate it. He wanted to shout and scream that he wasn’t ready for this responsibility, and at the same time he wanted to yell that his opinions mattered. Trapped in the turmoil of arrogance and ignorance, he zipped his mouth shut for the time being. He wanted the security of others, even if it meant sacrificing some of what he believed in.

  “Where is your bathroom?” he asked.

  Seconds later he was splashing his face with water in an attempt to waken him to reality. He wasn’t part of the fucking post office any more. He wasn’t collecting weekly wages and spilling them down the drain at the local haunt. He was on the fucking news for murder. His name might not have been broadcasted all over the media but his face was. Jack Blackwood. Face of the fucking Enemy.

  Struggling for breath, he clutched the edges of the sink and stared at his cold blue eyes. He hadn’t a clue who he was anymore. He prayed the alcohol would sour his judgement and play hero to his dismay, but nothing could rescue him this time. Jack was just the pathetic shadow slinking into the corner, behind men with better morals.

  All the angst, all the fear, wrapped around one little moment of trigger happiness.

  A knock on the bathroom door.

  “Are you alright in there?” Tobias called from the other side, “The others have arrived.”

  Jack stole himself one last disgusted look before he unlocked the door and came face to face with the young man whose life he’d changed forever.

  “I’m fine, just a little tired,” he said, “It’s been a long day.”

  “Sure, do you want anything before the meeting?”

  Jack shook his head, “No, just take me to them.”

  At the back of his mind a little figure protested weakness, but he shouted it down. Weak though he may be, there was no time for that right now.

  The dining room was set. Cleared of plates and cutlery, its finely polished veneer reflected the dull colours of those sat around it. Recognising none of them, he briefly shook each of their hands before sitting directly opposite them. Devin took residence in a halfway house at the top of the table, but all eyes were on Jack.

  “Right, so,” he began, stuttering, unsure of why anyone had been called to here at this late an hour, “I think we all know what happened the other night and I think we all know which one of us killed the man, so if you’ve not got any questions on that, don’t bother.”

  Kim raised her hand, “What did it feel like, when you killed him? Did you know that you were committing the single biggest act o
f The Resistance's history?”

  Jack stared at her, annoyed at her question.

  “No,” he said, “I just shot him and then dragged our leader out into the car and drove off back to headquarters. I didn’t stop to question anything. I just did what I needed to do.”

  A moment of silence passed. Her question had been answered, but where curiosity had reigned, awe lingered.

  “I know it’s late,” he continued, “And I’ve travelled a long way to be here, but we need to crack on and I need to raise something I found out during our adventure to Quentin’s estate.” He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts but passing it off as a thin veil of leadership, “I need to find out what -”

  The front door knocked, ominously. Jack looked at Devin, who immediately leapt to his feet and scurried to the door. Seconds later the unmistakeable Glaswegian accent filtered through the air like a bad smell.

  Kyle grinned from the doorway before marching towards the table and joining Jack by his side.

  “Sorry I’m late, pal,” he said, patting him on the back, “Carry on though.”

  Unnerved that one of his friends was watching him and analysing his every phrase, Jack continued.

  “As I was saying,” he said, “We need to find out something that I found on Quentin’s computer. It was an email. It appears that the Home Office are building something - and they’ve allocated numbers for each building or plot of land. I need to know exactly what they are building. Who wants to investigate?”

  Kyle raised his hand instantly, “I’ll take this.”

  “Fine,” Jack said, dismissively, “I also want frequent updates on what the CRU and the media know of what went on the other night. We need to react accordingly - I don’t want to start an all out war, but I don’t want what I did to be for nothing.”