The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  Alex looked at the note and burst out laughing again, “My fucking god you have some nerve.”

  “Well if anyone’s going to rot in their fucking jails, I’m glad it’s this disgusting bastard,” Jack said, sweeping one last glance at the cellar and climbing upstairs into the comfort of the bar.

  They left the cellar door unlocked.

  “It’s well after midnight,” Alex said, “We can’t leave now.”

  “First light,” Jack said, “And then we get the fuck out of here.”

  That night Jack slept terribly. At some point in the morning, the murderer woke. He heard shouting and screaming, albeit muffled by the brickwork, from below. At three in the morning, Jack went down and tied a gag around his mouth. By four he was finally sleeping, though he was plagued by terrible dreams that vanished from memory as soon as the lights turned on; Alex beaming over him like he’d had the most peaceful slumber.

  “I’ve procured a car,” he said, “And raided the kitchen for supplies.”

  Soon they were driving North along the country roads. Jack kept his profile low by lying flat in the backseat. He didn’t want to be crammed in amongst a bunch of tins and dried goods. He enjoyed watching the sky above transcend from bleakest cyan through to the deepest blue. Clouds gathered sporadically, and then amalgamated into fierce thunderstorms. A head vented through despite the throttling air conditioning. Summer in the South of England blistered against the window.

  Alex took the helm and the conversation was light hearted for what seemed like the first time in a decade. There was no mention of The Resistance, the CRU or the government. While they were confined to the little Vauxhall Astra, no one ever disappeared; there was no murder on the streets, half the country wasn’t starving while the other half rubbed their bellies with warm delight spread across their double chinned expressions. It was just Jack and his friend on a road trip. They recalled fond memories of Edinburgh, skirting eagerly around the subject most dear to their hearts. Conversation quickly turned to whiskies, with Alex having tried an intriguing one whilst in recuperation at Headquarters.

  It was at the mention of Headquarters that brought the mood slamming back to Earth. The bubble burst and they were both quickly reminded that things were not normal and might never be again.

  “Does it still hurt?” Jack asked, idly looking up at a particularly fluffy cloud.

  “I was shot,” Alex turned round, his brow knotted with sarcasm, “It’s just a bit tickly, what do you think?”

  “I’ve never been shot!”

  “I might make you embrace the feeling in a minute,” Alex slammed the brakes on, but they didn’t stop. “Get in the back, Jack. There’s a patrol up ahead.”

  They were between the border of Yorkshire and Northumberland. From memory, it was a popular security stop point. Jack flicked the back seat down and crawled into the boot. There was a pile of waterproof jackets he could smother himself in. Seeing Alex turn around, panicked, Jack pulled the seat back. It clicked closed with a poignant snap.

  The car slowed to a gentle stop. Outside he heard deep voices, but he was unable to make out what they were saying. The only comfort he could grasp was that their tones were slow and meandering.

  He heard Alex’s casual voice above all others. A moment later, he heard laughter. It could only be a good sign. At this point, Jack felt his stomach loosen. He would never get used to this. At any moment, it could all be over. How could he ever possibly become accustomed to that? It unnerved him that Alex seemed to be. Perhaps he had been doing it too long. His two year anniversary lurked in the not-too-distant future. Jack felt too immature to be in a position where he was numb to the danger of death. And then his thoughts dwelled to the reason he was hiding in the boot of the car. To all intents and purposes, he was leader of The Resistance. There was capacity for immaturity now.

  Eventually the car sped up. After ten minutes, Jack punched the backseat open and returned to lying down, staring at the clouds and dreaming of a future where he didn’t have to hide.

  They stopped over in Newcastle for the night. Alex located the nearest safehouse and parked the car round the corner. It was not one Jack had visited before, but he recognised a few familiar faces.

  As they entered the poxy little terraced house, Tobias grinned at him from the top of his book.

  Jack sat down beside him as Alex went into the kitchen to catch up with the safe house owner.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Great,” Tobias put down his book, “I’ve just come off a project to recruit one of the HMRC agents. He’s on our side now. We’ll have tax information from a number of high profile people related to the government. I’m heading down to London in a few days to try and meet with them and discuss some sort of obligatory donation.”

  Jack knew what the boy meant. He was proud of him in a strange way.

  “I was quite excited to see you on the television the other week,” Tobias said, “Kept telling everyone in the safehouse that he recruited me!”

  Jack flushed with pride, but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t anything to be proud of.

  “The main thing is,” he said, “You’re safe and alive.”

  Tobias nodded, “I’ve never felt more alive.”

  Alex returned shortly afterwards with hot drinks for everyone. There was a quiet woman in the corner who kept watch through the net curtains and said very little except “Thank you” when Alex handed her a hot tea.

  The safehouse owner, as it turned out, knew Lana from a mission involving the GD in London. Jack ended up embroiled in conversation with him for most of the evening as they made dinner together.

  “And then Lana,” Brian continued his story, “Panicked and had to reinvent her backstory all over again for the guy she’d been playing for the past hour! He was so sozzled though he barely noticed her name had changed from Miranda to Amanda!”

  The menu that evening was vegetable soup - the cheapest thing available. As they served up a small bowl each - there was only enough to go around for one serving - they settled down in the living room, where Brian continued his narrative of his time in London. For some reason, it was very special to him. Jack, head swimming with fatigue, gazed at him through a haze of wistful longing.

  It must be nice, Jack thought, to only have one aspect of a viewpoint. To everyone in the room, they were all Resistance members through and through. Jack felt alone in his own subscription. He could relate to no one else here. Jack didn’t admire the person who recruited him. He wasn’t inspired to join because of his father. He had no hilarious stories involving botched missions. He felt completely isolated from the organisation he was supposed to, according to the media, head. No one else had their faces plastered on the newspapers, all over the internet. They weren’t being hounded by the CRU in the same way he was.

  Throughout the evening, Jack’s resentment grew. It was an intense jealousy. He wanted to live a life that wasn’t bombarded by fear. He wanted to enjoy being a part of something bigger than himself and for a brief moment he remembered he had - but it was too brief to be nostalgic about. For a few tantalising hours, he was part of a group that was set to infiltrate the Home Secretary’s estate. And then it all crashed into chaos. Two died. One was shot. The other would never be the same again.

  Tobias joined him for washing up duties. Jack was feeling a little strange, taking part in menial tasks such as cleaning dishes. But it was comforting for someone not to be hovering over him, ensuring he was protected. Melanie and Kim always made sure there was a guard nearby.

  “You’re going tomorrow,” Tobias said, “I can tell.”

  Jack nodded, “We have to.”

  “I wish you could stay,” he said, “I wish you could show me how to be... to be better.”

  Jack handed Tobias another dish and stopped. The tepid water drained from the plate and splashed on to the floor.

  “I can’t teach you that,” Jack said, “Everything you learn, you learn by yourself. No
thing can be taught here.”

  Tobias looked saddened by the news, but said nothing.

  Alex joined them at that moment, “I’ve just reached Kyle. He’ll meet us at an agreed location tomorrow. He has some news.”

  Jack abandoned the sink, dried his hands on the tea towel and left Tobias amongst his own thoughts as he joined Alex in walking upstairs to bed.

  “What do you mean news?”

  “He couldn’t say on the phone,” Alex said, lighting a candle by their bedside table.

  Tonight’s accommodation was two sleeping bags in a cupboard. Brian had insisted the others be moved for Jack, but he resolutely declined.

  As they settled down together, side by side, Jack kicked the door close. The initial cold of the sleeping bag rapidly turned to snugness as he shivered inside.

  “This is just like old times,” Jack said, remembering when they used to share a room together.

  “Slightly less romantic than it used to be though,” Alex said, blowing out the candle once he’d settled into bed.

  “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you never attended that protest?” Jack asked, the black now a thick glue above them.

  There was a moment’s pause, before Alex replied, “I suspect we’d both be one of them, wouldn’t we? Blissfully unaware, struggling for money and bored of life.”

  “You don’t think you’d ever have questioned it then?”

  “Maybe,” Alex said, “But I can’t be sure. Could you?”

  “I’d still be there if it wasn’t for you, Alex. You know that. I’m just the dumb idiot that had to have reality beaten into him.”

  “Don’t say that,” Alex said sharply, “You were dragged into this. Fuck, I dragged you into this. But I could have just left you lying in the corner of a street, and you wouldn’t have thought it was any more than a mugging. I saw something in you, something I knew that we’d need. And look at you - you’re the most wanted man in Britain. That boy downstairs reveres you.”

  Jack still failed to see those as achievements.

  “Sometimes I think you see a completely different person than I do,” Jack said, “But maybe that’s for the best.”

  Morning dawned. Jack and Alex were up early, cradling their cups of tea like porcelain. Brian, dressing gown flowing over his knees, was setting the kitchen out for breakfast. Queasy, Jack declined food. They had a difficult journey ahead. Reaching Newcastle was one thing, crossing the border and travelling continuously until Aberdeenshire was quite another.

  Tobias yawned over his fried eggs. He had eagerly raced downstairs to bid Jack and Alex farewell. Brian’s glasses were fogged as he stood over the hot stove.

  “I know you can’t say where you’re going,” Tobias said, pushing his empty plate to one side, “But good luck.”

  He reached out a hand. Jack took it and found their tenuous relationship even stranger.

  By seven o’clock, they were ready to leave. Jack climbed into the back and Alex merrily got into the driver’s seat. Though he was careful to hide it, Jack saw Alex wince with pain in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t say anything.

  Pulling out of the kerbside, Jack lay anxiously devouring the patterns in the sky with his eyes. Before the cobalt was battered by clouds, they had entered Scotland, unceremoniously. Alex was tired, but he continued on.

  “The roads are clear, Jack!” Alex laughed from the front, “The roads are fucking clear!”

  At that point he switched on the radio. Music burst from the speakers as he adjusted the frequency until the hip hop beats were broken by news bulletins.

  “Must we?” Jack sighed from the back seat, “For once it would be nice to listen to some music, without a news broadcast ruining everything. Can’t we just, for the rest of the journey, pretend that we’re just on some boring road trip? No Resistance. No war. No revolution.”

  But as he broke off, the radio crackled another update for him to dwell over.

  “The Resistance leader, Steven Lennox, has killed again. This time a double murder in the sleepy town of Sevenoaks -”

  The radio zipped into silence. Alex glanced over his shoulder, “Yeah, fair enough.”

  His little stunt hadn’t achieved anything.

  “There’s no justice, is there?” Jack sighed, “Sam died for nothing. But then… they all do.”

  Alex wound the window down and let the air battering the car rush in and comb through their hair. Sometimes Jack found that Alex had little heart.

  Hours passed.

  The gradual incline to Aberdeenshire was only noticeable by the wretched screams of seagulls and potent stench of farmlands.

  “Where is Kyle meeting us?” Jack yawned.

  “About another half hour away in a little village,” Alex said, “Best to climb into the back now though. We’ve been chancing it for too long now.”

  Obediently, Jack climbed into the back and waited until the car slowed. He imagined quaint little rooftops, hanging baskets dangling low above the pavement. Cobbled streets and little rivers; corner shops and an expanse of countryside leeching into the concrete and asphalt. Tiny cottages would flank the streets leading up to a small square, complete with trickling fountain and a bed of sprouting daffodils and daisies. Jack was fondly reminded of the slopes of Stirling, his home town and which felt more remote than ever.

  At the beginning of this journey, Jack was hopeful. As the hours dripped tediously by, a haunting sensation filled his chest and by the time the car slowed to a poignant halt, he could not help but feel they had reached the end of another fruitless road.

  Outside, though muffled, he heard two familiar voices. Their tones were rushed. Jack felt naked without a weapon.

  The boot suddenly opened and Kyle and Alex were looking at him. Alex was smiling, but Kyle’s expression was far from pleasant. His skin was drained of all life; his eyes dark caves where but a twinkle of light reflected a soul within; rags for clothes, his shirt was torn and cut at the sleeves and his hair was a foul nest of grease.

  “Quick,” Kyle said, grabbing Jack’s arm, “We can’t linger here.”

  His feet slamming onto tarmac, Jack caught a glimpse of a war memorial smothered in ivy in the centre of a square before being hurried off inside.

  The sunshine dissipated and a cold shadow absorbed him.

  “Through here,” Kyle lead the way through a heavily wallpapered hallway, lined with trinkets and ornaments on shelves.

  It was extremely claustrophobic, and when Kyle took an expectant left turn, Jack found himself climbing the tiniest set of stairs as they ascended up into a small attic conversion, complete with a mismatch collection of armchairs and rugs. In the furthest chair, an old woman smiled vacantly.

  “Is this him?” she said, circling her teacup with a fingernail.

  Wrinkled skin clung to her frail frame. Her woollen clothes were like bags around her.

  Jack looked to Kyle for guidance.

  “This is my grandma,” Kyle said, turning to the old woman, “And this is Jack, and Alex.”

  Kyle’s grandma leant forward at the sound of Jack’s name.

  “Come a little closer,” she said, “My eyesight’s not what it used to be.”

  Hesitantly, Jack stepped forward and took the woman’s outstretched hand.

  “Ah yes,” she said, “It’s you, I recognise you from the telly. Aileen’s my name.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Aileen,” Jack said, as the woman continued to stare him.

  “You’re a lot more handsome in real life though!” she giggled.

  At that point Alex stepped forward into the fold.

  “Does she know?” he asked, though Jack didn’t understand why he needed to ask. Of course she knew.

  “I knew the site was near grandma’s house,” he said, “So I arrived a few weeks ago and told her everything. If there’s one person in your life you should trust, it should always be your grandma.”

  He winked at Aileen, who returned a warm glow.

>   “So what have you found out?” Alex slipped into an armchair.

  Kyle looked at his grandma and seemed suddenly saddened.

  “After sunset,” he said, “I’ll show you.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  Kyle paused for a moment before answering, “Because if I merely told you, you’d never believe me.”

  Alex turned to Jack. An exchange of anxiety and fear occurred. The last drop of hope plunged down the drain. Whatever ideas they had in their head about what they might find out here, they were almost certain to be disappointed.

  “Kyle,” Jack said, “Are you okay?”

  Kyle simply shook his head and sat down on the floor against the wall. He looked exhausted. They all did. It was strange to think that his two longest friends were beside him right now, in this dated house sitting, basking in the stray sunshine streaming through the window in Aberdeenshire. Kyle, who had been the wayward friend who had brought much needed fun to Jack’s life following the years of turmoil after Jess’s disappearance and eventual death. Alex, who was everything but a brother to him. Both these men, in their separate ways, had been such a part of Jack’s life. After all these years, it was now the strangest thing to think that their friendship was based purely on frivolous fun; but it was a bond so strong it dampened the atmosphere.

  “What’s your update, then?” Kyle asked, massaging the side of his temple.

  “Claudia’s in, she just needs time,” Jack said.

  “You approached her?”

  Jack nodded.

  “You approached the former Prime Minister’s personal secretary? His fucking speechwriter?”

  Kyle looked bewildered.

  “I could have waited,” Jack admitted, “But I was sick and tired of being patient. That’s part of the whole damn problem, really. Patience and waiting around for the right people to know about the right things. Waiting for us to know what the fuck is going on.”