The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “I think we’re too involved in this to remember what it was like to be Jack… to be Kyle… to be Kim, Melanie, Devin, Lana. We’ve changed. Some of us have seen too many stolen from us, others have taken too many. We aren’t the same people anymore and whilst we have to embrace that, we have to also appreciate what we lost. Because what we lost, others still have. Yesterday, I killed one of them. I murdered someone who I believed to be sickeningly selfish in an age of dire poverty. For over a year I blackmailed him, funding this organisation through him -”

  Kim and Melanie launched into clapping.

  Jack cut them off, “No. I don’t count that as victory. That money was lost - lost into a confused cause. After a while, he started feeding me information on his friend Quentin Robson. It was information he gave me that resulted in our attack on his estate. He risked his life to get me that information, and I repaid him by killing him. At the time I thought he’d betrayed me. In reality he had done no such thing. But he did teach me something that I didn’t fully comprehend until a few short hours ago.

  “You want to know why they don’t fight? You want to know why terms like Unsightlies are being bandied about? You want to know why being unemployed is near despicable in a generation that’s been crippled by an economic crash? You want to know why they don’t want to help? They don’t think anything is wrong. They are too absorbed in figuring out their own lives that they won’t see what’s beyond it. And you think you can persuade them with leaflets and promises of a better life? Well as horrible as I may sound, some of these people have got a better life than they did five years ago, so why would they complain that there is Martial Law? What does it matter to them if some nameless terrorist is killed? The human race is selfish. Why the fuck would a recession change that?”

  They all stared back at him, both impressed and disappointed at the same time.

  “So you want to change things? Why the fuck are we waiting for approval? It is wrong. It is wrong that I can’t walk down the street without fearing for my life. It is wrong that people are struggling for food, for work, for a way of life. It is wrong that people are reporting their friends, neighbours, work colleagues to the CRU for the most trivial acts and it is wrong that people don’t care. But we’ve known it’s wrong and we’ve tried to tackle it, by rescuing people and preventing the CRU from killing innocent victims. What’s really wrong is that we have stopped to paying attention to what’s really happening. So I’m going to ask you this quite obvious question… Why is the government doing this? What advantage to their political ideology is this? And as soon as you look at it from that angle, it stops becoming Us and Them, and more why? Why are they doing this? For what reason could they want Martial Law, the CRU, people bickering over each other? In every autocracy, every dystopia, there is always a fucking reason…. Germany wanted to reunite the Aryan Race. Russia wanted to find its glory in the world. The African dictatorships, glorified warlords marred by paranoia that all their riches would suddenly be stolen from them. So what’s our excuse? What do they want? Why are they doing this? And why can’t be answer those questions? Surely we should know our Enemy before we can fight them. They paint a picture of us. I’m everywhere on the news right now. They know more about me, one person in the whole organisation, than we do about any of them. We need to stop reacting against them, and start this war again. Today, we stop seeking permission to wage this war. Tonight, we decide to act on it. Tonight, we make the choice to find out why this happening, for only then can we possibly end it. Them lot out there,” he pointed out the window, “They don’t care about us so long as we don’t affect their lives. All they care about is their TV shows, their love life and their bank balance. We were all one of them. So now is the time to recognise who The Resistance are, what we are fighting for and more importantly, what we are resisting against.”

  Applause burst into life. They were all looking at him with expressions of wonder. Jack stared back at them, casually absorbing their approval. Nearly two years of suppressed opinions burst through and he finally felt fantastic. Kyle caught his eye and winked. The applause died down and Melanie was the first to speak.

  “So what do we do now?”

  It was a difficult question, and one Jack was too mentally drained to face up to. Melanie, especially, was looking at him intently. He could see her mind slowly taking notes. Meanwhile, Jack felt disappointed that his energy had piqued so early. He had no plan beyond breathlessly unleashing his opinions on the gathering. What now, indeed? After all he’d said, his mind returned void.

  However, Kyle had picked up on this and quickly assumed control of the conversation.

  “I think what’s important is that we get Jack out of London,” he said, “They are going to be hunting him now that he’s leader -”

  “I’m not leader,” Jack sharply cut in.

  But all eyes turned on him.

  “Jack,” Kyle said slowly, “It doesn’t matter what we think or even what Alex is. They think you are the leader. Do you really want to go out there and correct them?”

  At three o’clock the next day, they prepared to escort him from the Southwark safe house. Devin had sourced a car that would take them out to the West of the city, where another mode of transport would be arranged. But between the old Vauxhall in the carpark and the front door, were three flights of open stair cases and corridors to sneak down. With his face reeling across every television set in the country, there was almost no chance he wasn’t going to be spotted.

  “If the CRU are informed of your location, they aren’t going to take the information lightly. They are going to send in all they’ve got. The government wants to see you hang for Quentin’s murder.”

  “Yes, yes,” Jack said hastily, withdrawing from the net curtain, “I don’t need reminding.”

  Melanie and Kim were following up on the movements of the MPs they were tailing. Lana was loitering by the kitchen, pottering around with the washing up and generally keeping out of sight whilst trying to stay within earshot.

  Jack felt uncomfortable. He appreciated that if he were caught anywhere near her safehouse, that she and all her hard work would be completely destroyed. He felt like a remotely controlled bomb, and anyone could pull the detonator.

  A short while later, Devin returned to the flat.

  “We have to go now,” he said, “I think if we leave it any longer we might risk being too late.”

  Jack nodded, turning to Lana who was now curled up on the sofa. He wanted to say something to her, but wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to say.

  “I’ll meet up with you soon,” Kyle said to him.

  With Devin waiting anxiously by the door, Jack erred against any dramatic goodbye. His stomach was knotted with nerves and the idea of leaving the safety of the flat made him feel physically sick, but if he didn’t leave now he never would and he had to - for his own sanity, his own safety.

  He put on the woollen hat Devin had bought as a disguise. It was pathetic in every respect, but with its large earflaps, it covered most of his face. Ridiculous in every way, he accompanied Devin down the daunting path to the car.

  As a neighbour appeared at the end of the first corridor, he smiled vacantly and walked right past them. Jack’s heart rate spasmed. At any minute someone could spot him. The neighbour might be this second dialling the local CRU branch and reporting him. A second person passed them and barely looked up from his phone. A third, laden with shopping, stared directly into the distance. By the fourth, Jack knew he was feeling more at ease so that by the time he opened the car door as he no longer felt the need to throw up in the nearest bin.

  Devin, now in the driver’s seat, turned to him, “I’m going to need you to crawl through into the boot now. You can’t be seen.”

  Jack slid into the backseat and pulled down the chair to access the boot. It was familiar to be back in there. As he pulled the chair back into place, the darkness providing a comforting reassurance for the journey to come. The engine started and t
he gentle hum soothed his wracking nerves.

  With every brake, he feared the worst. That the CRU had pulled them over; that Devin had been shot in the head and the car, without driver, had slowly meandered to a pathetic stop. He was anxious for the company of a weapon, but found only a spanner, which he clutched on to for hopeless security.

  As the time dragged by, he resolved his tactic if they were to be discovered. At first he thought to blame it all on Alex - it would be the far easier option - but he knew that he would never betray anyone in The Resistance. Instead, if the monsters came knocking, he would go calmly and quietly and feed them as much misinformation as he could. It was a daunting thought, knowing that they would drain him of all knowledge through torture. Beyond that, he hadn’t placed much thought. Did death await him? Or a lifetime of imprisonment? Would he even make it out of the car alive?

  His demise was a curious notion he couldn’t quite grasp. Life was something he feared he’d lose, but he found it hard to imagine his cold body on a slab in the morgue. It was too strange and absurd an image to conjure.

  At long last they reached the swap over destination. The boot opened and Emma grinned on the other side. Jack smiled broadly.

  “I heard a damsel in distress needed my help,” she smiled, helping him out of the car.

  They were in an empty industrial estate. A few scarce lights glared at them, but all else was isolated forklift trucks, vacant vans parked by worn-down warehouses and high, rusting security fences.

  “I’m glad to see you,” he sighed, taking in his surroundings.

  “Well, don’t get too used to it,” she said, “You’re going in the back of that.”

  She pointed over at one of the white vans.”

  Devin appeared at Jack’s side, offering his hand.

  “Best of luck,” he said, a tone of finality marred his words.

  Jack took his hand, “I’ll send word for you when I’m safe. We need to make plans.”

  Nodding, Devin returned to the car and drove off.

  Emma clapped her hands together and marched over to the van, sliding open the door.

  Inside was an array of boxes and other assorted junk.

  “Make yourself feel comfortable,” she said, “We’re going to drive straight until start of Curfew.”

  It had only just gone six, but it was already dark.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “Classified,” she said, “Now get in before I throw you in.”

  Obligingly, and relieved to once again be shrouded in darkness, he clambered into the back and snuck behind a rolled up carpet for comfort. Emma threw in a bottle of water.

  “See you on the other side.”

  She slammed the door shut. The entire van shook as she hopped in the front.

  As they set off, the contents of the van slipped backwards, leaving Jack clutching on to a box to prevent it from toppling on to him. The journey continued in a similar vein. The uncomfortableness soon spread to his heart.

  Dark and faintly smelling of petrol, there was no distraction from the thoughts addling his brain. As he’d already accepted, there was no way back from this. No longer could he shrink into the shadows of anonymity. Steven Lennox was exposed now. Every friend Jack had ever known now realised the lies he had told them. The Reader family were more than likely reliving the revelations themselves - the night that his father knocked on their door and the subsequent confession he’d made to Eliza on the pavement, molten by summer’s heat.. And what of him? What of Ray Lennox, his dad? How much more could he be disappointed in his son? At least he now knew what had happened to Jack. His son did not just disappear into the night, never to be seen again. As he lay in the dark, however, he wondered if his father would be better off not knowing where his child was than dealing with the fact that he was, in the public’s eye, a terrorist.

  About forty minutes into the journey, the van stopped. Jack heard voices outside. Rain attacked the roof of the van. Emma was talking to someone, though he could not make out what was being said. He kept his breathing shallow.

  They were no doubt at the patrol border around the city. So many times he had been able to cross undetected, but they were actively hunting him now. In light of recent events, they were more than likely checking all cars leaving the city.

  He heard the van door slam. The entire vehicle seesawed. He heard footsteps circulating around him. Shifting further back into the van, he gently pulled one of the boxes in front of him, tucking his feet behind him and bracing for the next few daunting seconds.

  The van side door slid open. Voices chatted.

  “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” Emma said, “Terry, my boss, wanted this delivered tonight and didn’t much care about how it was packed. Load of junk by the looks of it. Think it’s for several customers - there’s mechanic stuff at the back, another load of carpentry materials too.”

  Torchlight pierced through. A splinter of it illuminated his thigh.

  “Can I just see your Travel Licence?” the CRU officer asked, before continuing a few seconds later, “That’s fine. Remember to renew it at the end of the month.”

  “Thanks! I’m always such a klutz when it comes to this thing,” Emma laughed, slamming the door shut again.

  Though the calm had returned and they were on the move again, Jack was far from put at ease that they had successfully crossed the city border. Despite conning the CRU Officer, he could not help but dwell on what might have happened if they had dug a little deeper into the contents of the van. What would have happened to him after he’d been carted off to the CRU offices?

  Tortured for information? But what would that torture involve. To him, it was just a word that other people endured - he didn’t know what it entailed, or how much it hurt. He feared it without appreciating exactly what it was and that worried him. After all that he had been through, after everything he had done, from blackmailing Julian to killing Quentin; he had never felt more naive. Constantly he reminded himself that he hadn’t been here from the start, that he was just riding off Alex’s ill placed confidence in his ability. And now he was in a position to make decisions, to order people around. At present, the most important job The Resistance had was to safely remove him from London. They had his back no matter what his experience and Jack found it very peculiar to deal with. Who was he to dictate what anyone did? Who was he to be special enough to be smuggled out into the countryside?

  He was Jack Blackwood, pseudonym of Steven Lennox, leader of The Resistance. Never before had he needed Alex’s council quite like he did right now.

  The hours droned by as he internally argued with himself. The water bottle had run dry and his stomach was grumbling. At least they had driven continuously since London. There had been no more inspections or unexpected stops. He wondered where Emma was taking him and whether or not he could contact Alex when he arrived.

  At long last the van pulled to a final stop. Moments later the side door slid open. Starlight twinkled behind Emma’s moonlight figure.

  “Wake up sunshine,” she said.

  Climbing over the debris he’d used to disguise himself earlier, Jack jumped from the van on to the tarmac; inhaling deeply the crisp, salty air.

  Before him was a midnight silk bay, twinkling with amber as it stretched out to meet a pale grey horizon. A cold wind blustered them as the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below soothed his ears. Below them was a cluster of cosy lights; a little hamlet tucked away into the cliffs. To their right was a small cottage, weathered by frequent storms. It was quaint with a neat little garden at its feet, the front door decorated by shells and tiny porthole windows peaked out from the grey stone.

  “Come on,” Emma said, “Inside before someone sees us.”

  She brushed against his arm and headed over to the cottage. Sweeping a view of the bay, Jack followed her inside.

  As the door shut behind him, Emma threw on the lights. Where Jack was expecting an empty hallway, he found it full of random junk. Ma
gazines were piled up by the door. Letters were strewn across the carpet, interspersed with leaves and other natural debris. Further into the house, the kitchen was far from vacant. Dishes were piled up by the sink. A box of cereal had been left on the counter. The adjacent living room was a mess of books and empty glasses.

  “Where is everyone?” Jack asked. For a safehouse it hardly fitted the type. These places were never abandoned.

  “Gone,” Emma said simply, collapsing into the sofa and stretching out her legs.

  Jack sat in the armchair across from her as she switched on the television. It immediately sprang up with some children’s show before she switched it over to the news. Jack’s face stared back at him.

  Emma shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen.