The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  Emma smiled, “There you are, Jack. Good to see you.”

  “Call Kyle,” he said, “Arrange a meet tomorrow. I want to strike in two days.”

  “So soon?”

  “Soon? This has been a decade in the making.”

  Emma picked up her phone and called a contact to arrange a meeting with Kyle. Meanwhile, Jack ventured to the window and peeled back the blinds. Fog misted the window, but he rubbed it clean with his sleeve. Outside the sirens prevailed as a glossy finish smeared the pavements. Rain, again.

  Lying on his side, Jack’s arm was crippled with cramp. From one side to the other he’d been tossing and turning, always the same lumps digging into his back, always the same numbness spreading along his arm at just the point of sleep. Hours and hours he forced himself to forget, but his right hand still felt the imprint of the gun. The brushed metal, the recoil when the bullet flew out and hammered into her chest.

  He retched at the idea that he’d never be able to talk to her again. There’d never be another long night of staying up and chatting, of finding humour in the strangest of things and that feeling of coming home. Home. What did that mean anymore? He was empty and alone. Emma was awake at the end of the bed, but he was utterly alone. She wanted him to be strong and he could, he so easily could and he was trying. But when the lights went out and the hope dwindled like a fading star behind a thick cloud, he was just a scared little boy who had no idea what he was doing.

  Morning dawned. Jack found Emma slumped at the bottom of the single bed. Pulling his sheets over her shoulders, he ventured out into the kitchen and found completely nothing in the fridge. There wasn’t even an old bottle of decaying milk. Closing it solemnly, he collapsed into the sofa again and turned on the television, searching for the first channel broadcasting news.

  When he saw the anchor announcing a story, he sat forward but his hopes were soon dashed. Quite what he was expecting, he wasn’t sure. Maybe Lana might have made the news, finally. Her plotting against the GD had never made any headway… and now it was certain not to. But his ears were only met with a dull story of a heatwave on the horizon. It angered him. How could they talk about summer when he was hurting so much inside?

  “Morning,” a sleepy voice behind him yawned.

  Emma stretched against the doorframe. Jack smiled faintly at her before returning his attention to the television. More on the heatwave. It was so frustrating to watch. How could such meaningless shit being churned out when there was real news begging to be broadcasted?

  “Has Kyle called you back yet?” Jack asked, not taking his eyes from the set.

  “Not yet,” she said, “But the network’s been down all night. He might have only just got my message.”

  “Without him?” he said, “Can we do it without him?”

  “Were you wanting his permission, like?”

  Jack scrunched his eyebrows up in thought, “No.”

  It had never dawned on him before that he could make these decisions without consulting anyone. Kyle had been his usual guidance counsellor on such matters, it seemed odd not to consult him on his plans…

  “You are leader,” she said, “You shouldn’t need to.”

  “Alex still has that title.”

  “Fuck Alex,” she said, “He cowers in the shadows instead of acting. Everything we’ve achieved, we have done because of you.”

  “People keep on saying that,” he bit back, “But what does that even mean?”

  “It means stop fucking about and do what you need to do,” she said, “These bastards need to be stopped. They killed Lana. They raped this other woman who helped you. What else do they need to do before you stand up for yourself?”

  Jack looked away. He didn’t want to face the truth. Had Lana been murdered purely because he hadn’t been self-assured enough? It didn’t work like that, did it?

  Emma swept round and fell at his feet, “You don’t know how capable you are? Every day you deny it, you’re costing lives. You need to ignore every doubt in your head. Alex might be your friend, but he has long since been our leader. Jack, we look to you, not this obscure man we only see from time to time. Most of our new recruits don’t even know who he is. They join because of you!”

  He turned to look tenderly at her, “Is that right?”

  She nodded, her expression unwavering, “I would never lie to you.”

  Jack paused and digested her opinion. He only needed to remember yesterday; Philippa pinned against her car bonnet. The side effects of a rogue government offering power to anyone who would do their bidding.

  “Get the bombs together then. Pick small targets. That’s what we need to do,” he said, “People don’t give a shit about icons blowing up. Take out a bridge in the countryside. Destroy their local church. Bam, bam, bam. We want to remind them exactly what we can do and then… when they really hate us? Maybe, just maybe, they’ll want to know why.”

  Emma grinned and picked up her phone.

  “I know just the people.”

  Two days later and the first bomb hit. A small bridge in Chester. Probably only used by a handful of people a day, but it was enough to shake the local newspapers. They were affronted by panicked calls for more police protection and cried out for an end to the violence. Day three and a pub in Cardiff exploded just before Curfew. Jack watched the replay on television. His heart played an unusual beat, and though the dead lay sprawled across the tarmac outside, he consoled himself that it was only a war. There always had to be casualties in a war and if they weren’t on his side, then they must be on theirs. Wasn’t apathy as bad as complicity?

  Emma moved Jack to another safe house in Bristol for the third attack. Again they watched on the news, another bombing of their own making. This time it was a village hall in Northumberland. Every attack shook the country more than anything they had done in the past. News reporters flocked to the scenes, broadcasting live from the carnage. The government was on high alert. Martial Law had returned to the country with a marked severity. Their movements were restricted, and Jack was confined indoors.

  “We’re getting to them,” Emma punched Jack in the arm as they sat huddled together on the sofa as another replay of events unfolded.

  “Fifty-eight dead,” Jack said, quoting the total body count so far. His eyes were imprinted with the figure. It almost stunned his brain, as if a sum that didn’t quite add up.

  He hadn’t seen daylight in days. Emma insisted that he keep away from the windows. Instead, he stayed upstairs in a small box room with a television and permanently drawn blinds. He wasn’t to leave the top floor unless Emma accompanied him and the other safehouse users were not to know he was there unless they passed her clearance levels. The security measures essentially rendered him to isolation.

  In the darkest hours he would bark his orders to bomb another place that he’d randomly pointed to on an old roadmap. His minions would scatter for their planning, scouting out the proposed area. They’d return their intelligence hours or maybe days later and Jack would ponder little over his decision. More often than not he nodded a curt confirmation, barely taking his eyes from the screen blaring out news from the latest of his attacks.

  Emma had brought him the tea that he now cradled in his hands. With his legs sprawled out on front of him, he sat on the edge of the worn out mattress - stained sheets ruffled and creased unevenly around it - and leant back against the chipped wall. His feet almost touched the other side. Damp creeped up one corner of the room.

  “Don’t lose heart now,” she said, “We have to get these bastards, and we’ve tried every alternative.”

  “Have we?” Jack sighed, unsure of either conviction.

  Emma rubbed his leg affectionately; he withdrew.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

  “I know,” he murmured.

  It had been a month since he had seen Eliza. A month to the day and nearly to the hour. He wondered how she felt, watching all this unfold when he had promised her almost exactly th
e opposite. How could she trust him now? He felt sick. Did she feel the same? Disgusted that she’d trusted in him one last time. And Jonathan? It would only drive her further into his arms. It still stung. That first glimpse of her; pregnant. How easily might it have been another story?

  “How is the prep for Dingwall?” he asked, referencing another plot.

  “On track,” she said, “I’ll know more in an hour or so.”

  “Do you really think that this is going to make a difference?”

  “Yes,” she said, “Right now they trust the government to protect them. We are breaking that bond with every bombing.”

  “And is fifty-eight lives worth that?”

  “Against fifty-eight million that are suffering?”

  He sighed remorsefully and his focus returned to the television - a commercial break flashed across the screen. Downstairs the doorbell rang.

  “You’d better get that,” he said, not turning to look at her.

  Emma rose up and disappeared downstairs. He heard muffled voices as the door opened, and his ears pricked up when the voices seemed oddly raised, antagonistic. Moments later, footsteps thundered up the stairs. Fearing the worst, Jack jumped to his feet but was both relieved and surprised when he saw Alex’s frail frame standing on the landing.

  “A word,” he said, striding forward and slamming door the behind them.

  Jack staggered backwards, sensing the threat.

  Hammering on the other side of the door, Emma’s muffled yelling was promptly shut down by Alex.

  “Fuck off. This isn’t your concern,” he said abruptly before rounding on Jack. “Edinburgh, eh?”

  Jack was pressed against the back wall; there was nowhere left to backtrack to. He nodded.

  “The one fucking place I told you not to go!”

  “It wasn’t planned!” he stammered, “Please, you have to understand! I had to leave London, and it was the only way out - I would have been caught otherwise.”

  “We have ten safehouses in that fucking town, and you don’t even attempt to go anywhere near them? Don’t fucking lie to me,” he said, blood vessels popping in his eye, “I know exactly what was on your mind.”

  “Fine, I went to the house. But had you told me months ago she’d moved on I would never have gone anywhere near the place!”

  “I trusted that you’d never find out,” he said calmly.

  “I bet you loved it when you found out though,” Jack said, “I bet you were savouring this moment, when you could finally stamp out any remote feelings I have for Eliza.”

  “She’s happier with him than she could ever be with you,” Alex spat.

  “He’s the fucking CRU manager for Edinburgh! Your sister is literally fucking the enemy!”

  Alex launched a punch at Jack, whose head smacked into the wall. Crumpled in a heap on the mattress, Jack glared up through a puffy cheek and saw Alex raging above, fist clenched and ready to strike again.

  Emma burst through the door and put herself between them.

  “Stop it!” she yelled, “Stop this now!”

  “When were you going to tell me that you’d set me up for your murder?” Jack said, bitterly, grabbing Emma’s hand to help him to his feet.

  “I wasn’t,” Alex hovered as Emma escorted Jack from the room.

  Blood was dripping from his chin.

  “Are you okay?” Emma asked in a low voice, inspecting his face closely.

  Jack nodded, “Alex only deals psychologically lasting damage.”

  “Come back here,” Alex called from the room.

  Emma gave Jack an incredulous look.

  “We need to have this talk,” he said, “Go downstairs, prepare for the next bombing. I’ll call you if I need to.”

  “Only if you’re sure,” she said, wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek with her sleeve.

  Jack returned to the box room to find Alex gazing out the window through the blinds.

  “I wish I could do that,” he said enviously, “I think I might have forgotten the feel of fresh air.”

  “How is she?” Alex asked, distantly.

  “Heavily pregnant,” Jack said. Alex turned around instantly, “You didn’t know?”

  Hanging his head, Alex seemed at first lost for words, “... I’m going to be an Uncle?”

  “I think that’s how it works,” he said, “But if you really think she’s happy, then you crack on.”

  Alex slumped on to the mattress, “I knew they married - last year.”

  “And did you know he was a CRU officer?”

  He nodded.

  “Fucksake, why didn’t you stop her?”

  “Because I thought she might be safer this way,” he snapped, “Whatever happened to us, her name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud as well. He’d protect her - and given that she hasn’t been arrested for simply knowing you, I think he’s done his job.”

  “So you stopped keeping an eye on her after that?”

  “No,” Alex defended himself, “I last checked in maybe four months ago... I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

  “She wants to know you’re alive,” Jack said.

  “I can’t give her that…”

  “Yes you can and you must.”

  Alex sighed, looking mournfully up at the ceiling, “Do you have any idea what that would mean? To me, to you, to Eliza?”

  “Yes,” Jack said forcefully, “I’ve been in the fucking spotlight for most of this year. It’s my face on the news, not yours. It’s my name being banded around like I’m the devil. It’s my life being torn to shreds, not yours. I haven’t left this house in nearly a week. I risk my life so much as walking down the street. And you know what the worst part is? You haven’t even fucking thanked me. I’m taking all this flak, because you don’t want to claim it for yourself. You’re the fucking leader, and yet you don’t want appear to be it.”

  “So what you thought you’d give it a proper try?” Alex laughed.

  Jack felt his fist reflex into a ball. Rage burned through him like fire. After all that he’d done. After all that he’d sacrificed. Every day that he couldn’t walk down the street. Every person that had been killed just for knowing him. Every time he’d had to risk everything just to leave a city.

  “I have done more for this fucking organisation than you ever have,” he spat, “I killed the Home Secretary. I fucking kidnap the Educational guy! I start a riot. I have the former Prime Minister’s secretary in my fucking pocket! How many attacks have we done in the past fortnight? More than in the past three months - all down to me!”

  “And you think that’s leading, is it? What about your ideology? Where are you taking these people - to their deaths? You think killing a few people makes you a leader?”

  “A month ago a stranger saved my life, all because of my fucking face. My fucking deeds,” Jack pressed up against Alex, “I can’t imagine anyone granting you that favour.”

  “I don’t give a shit what some stranger thinks,” Alex gently pushed Jack away, “And I’m certainly not about to let you destroy the reputation of this organisation by blowing up everyone in the country.”

  “A few sporadic bombs is the whole country is it?” Jack nearly laughed, “Well why don’t you call it off? Go on, stroll downstairs and make some calls. But let's face it, if you could do that you’d have done it by now.”

  Alex glowered at Jack through the charcoal light. The two men were locked in tension. There was no chance of Jack relenting this time. For years he’d revered Alex, tiptoeing around his feelings and reaching to him for guidance - but he’d outgrown his mentor. For whatever reason, Alex couldn’t cope with that. It was typical. Even in Relugas Road, he loved to be the saviour, the one everyone went to for help.

  “Be pissed at me because I went to see Eliza, but don’t be angry because I finally followed through with what you taught me,” Jack shook his head, “A long time ago you told me this was bigger than either of us - you might want to remember that right now.”

>   Alex shot an angry look into the middle distance. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Jack tried his best to stare at his friend, as if trying to melt the ice between them with his eyes. They shouldn’t be fighting, but what was more concerning was what they were fighting about. What had begun with Eliza was now an argument about leadership. Was there something else going on?

  “Eliza misses you,” he said, “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but you need to speak to her. You need to let her know that you’re okay.”

  “Her husband wouldn’t stand for her.”

  “Her husband drove me to Berwick upon-Tweed,” Jack explained, “She has him under her thumb. For the entire journey he could have turned me in, but he didn’t. Because she asked him. I despise the bastard, but he would never hurt her.”

  Alex looked up hopefully, but failed to say anything at all.

  “If you don’t want to see her fine,” Jack said, “But when or if this is all over, and we are all still alive, don’t expect her to forgive you. She is your sister and no matter what happens, you will always her brother. You keep pretending to be dead, and you’ll only end up alone.”

  “I’ll put her in danger,” he seethed.

  “No,” Jack said, “Not if I’m the leader.”

  Alex darted a look at Jack, “What?”

  “They think you are dead, Alex. Do you really think that Eliza is going to correct them on that?” he said, “So long as I’m the public leader, you are untouchable. What does it matter if she knows you’re still alive? She’s not in any greater danger than she already is in - she helped me escape. You don’t even need to speak to her. Just let her see your face. That’s all she needs. Just end the lie.”

  “And what will you do? Continue bombing the shit out of villages?” Alex said, smirking.