Before anyone could reply, another voice spoke out.
“Robb.”
It was so quiet, so softly spoken, that it barely registered at first.
“Robb.”
It came again, an almost mocking tone with something so familiar in its cadence.
“Turn around.”
Robb did as he was told and found himself gazing at the man called Brynne. He hadn’t known what to expect when they finally met. He’d imagined someone much taller, more remarkable, but here was an ordinary man not so different from himself.
They stared at one another and Robb gradually felt a prickle of recognition. Cold blue eyes, sharp as hooks, glared back at him and he knew that he’d seen them before. But it was only when Brynne flashed that familiar cocky grin that Robb finally understood and saw Farren standing before him.
“Hello friend.”
In a flash of rage Robb lunged at him. Farren jumped away, but too slowly and Robb’s hands closed around his throat. He smashed his fist again and again into his face until a trailing leg sent them both sprawling to the ground. Robb was on him immediately, unable to control the fury even if he’d wanted to.
Farren struck back, but his blows were nothing. Robb swatted them aside or absorbed them on his chest and arms. His own fists were like granite blocks dropping onto Farren’s face. He felt his nose and cheekbones give way beneath the beating and rejoiced with each impact.
A thick arm suddenly hooked around Robb’s chest, dragging him away from the senseless figure lying on the floor. Robb spun round and threw a huge right hook that caught Kellie square on the jaw, rocking him backwards. The response was an open palm sent crashing into his face, making the teeth rattle in Robb’s head.
“Enough,” the sevener shouted. “See to your sons.”
That knocked the anger out of him more than the slap had done. In an instant he was back on the steps beside John trying to rouse him. Farren was unconscious, or dead and Kellie quickly searched his clothing for keys. When he found nothing, he rounded on the lieutenant and ripped one epaulette off his shoulder.
“I’ve got your name now. If you follow us, I’ll kill you. If you report us, I’ll kill you.”
He scooped John from the floor and bounded up the steps towards the surface. Robb followed with Ryan’s arm draped over his shoulder, both helping the other to limp towards daylight. As they stepped beneath the curved metal archway of the Manufacturing Station, a blizzard of snow hit them. The wind had grown fiercer and it whipped the snow around them, forcing Robb to guard his eyes with one hand as he searched for Kellie.
The sevener was partway down the street standing beside a gunnerman jeep. He had already gained entry by smashing one of the windows and laid John across the back seats. Robb watched him dash around the car and wrench open the driver’s door before he hunched below the steering column and tore at the bundle of wires fastened there. He slid into the back seat while Ryan struggled into the front and in seconds the engine roared into life.
The wound on his son’s chest was no longer bleeding and his skin felt cold to touch.
“Stay with us John,” Robb whispered. “We’ll get you fixed up. We’re going to a hospital.”
He clutched John’s hands tightly in his own while Kellie wrestled the jeep around corners, fighting for grip on the white roads. John’s eyes were closed but he called out in a small voice. Robb was afraid to listen though, somehow knowing that if he let John speak, it would be for the last time.
“Dad,” he said again, barely a whisper.
In spite of himself, Robb leaned closer, tilting one ear to John’s mouth. “I’m here. Go on.”
“Is Ryan okay?”
Robb clenched his jaw tight as tears fell from both eyes.
“I’m fine,” Ryan said, reaching between the seats to hold his hand. “We got away. You saved me.”
John gave the flicker of a smile before releasing a deep sigh.
“How long Kellie?” Robb shouted.
“We’re here,” he replied, almost losing control of the car as it slid through the hospital gate. They stopped outside the emergency doors and together lifted John from the vehicle while Ryan dogged their steps. Two doctors ran out with a trolley, but John’s breathing had already stopped and his once bright eyes were cold and vacant. Robb let them take him and stood numbly in the hospital entrance, utterly lost.
Chapter 58
Ryan was home, sitting on a plank of wood in the old outhouse. It was the seat that John had made for himself years ago and he’d never appreciated until now just how uncomfortable it was. He looked up at the high shelf that had been his perch and wished he had allowed John to sit there. Just once.
Ryan was holding luck stone, turning it over in his hands, rubbing his fingers over the jagged quartz. He had left it there as a present for John. That was before the train station. Before…
His jaw ached dreadfully, and he could barely swallow or speak. They’d removed the roots of two teeth and patched up the hole in his leg too. Ryan was in constant pain, but he knew it would never be enough.
His thoughts were always of John. Especially here where they had played before the city got its hooks into them. He bowed his head and felt grief once more pulling at his heart. He squeezed both arms across his chest and clenched his teeth, able to force down the feelings once again. It hurt more to contain them like this, but he couldn’t cry. Crying brought forgiveness and he didn’t deserve that.
Through the wall of the outhouse, he heard the back door open and footsteps sound in the yard. “So how are you holding up?”
He recognised Kellie’s deep voice and then there was a grunt of effort as his dad stepped out of the house too. Ryan moved to a gap in the bricks and watched him cross the yard. His dad was limping worse than ever and didn’t answer the sevener’s question, except with a non-committal shrug.
Kellie said nothing, passing the time in companionable silence while staring at the white skies. The snows had stalled for now, but the clouds still weighed heavy over Straybeck. Eventually Ryan’s dad spoke.
“Did you find the gunnerman?”
Kellie nodded.
“And?”
“It’s taken care of.”
Ryan wasn’t sure what that meant but he hoped it was a slow and painful.
“What about Farren? What happened to him?”
“It’s taken care of.”
Even to Ryan, the answer was unsatisfactory.
“Kellie. Just tell me. Did he talk? Did he say why?”
“It won’t bring him back.”
Robb tried to answer, but his voice cracked on the first word. He covered his eyes with one hand. “I need to know why.”
Kellie put one hand on his shoulder. “They broke him Robb. It’s as simple as that. They broke him and then they used him to recruit the next generation.”
Ryan remembered a room with dozens of pictures and a ledger of names.
“All those young men,” his dad said. “Those boys.”
But Ryan knew that he wasn’t thinking about them. All his thoughts were for John. His dad turned away from the sevener, not realising that he was now showing his gaunt and grief-worn face to Ryan.
“It’s funny,” he said, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “Years ago, when Eliza miscarried, I cried for a few hours. I thought I knew real sadness back then. God I was so young.” He gave an unhappy laugh.
“But now? Now there’s not a moment goes by when I’m not thinking about him. It’s anchored me here and I can’t stop the sorrow creeping in. It swells from my stomach and it’s in my head and it’s in here,” he grabbed at the front of his chest.
“I can’t get it out. I can’t…” he broke off, trying to compose himself. “To outlive your child. It shouldn’t be allowed, it just…” The rest of the words were lost and for the first time ever, Ryan watched his dad weep. Even then, his own tears wouldn’t come.
Chapter 59
Two days later, on a wintery afte
rnoon in Straybeck, Ryan and Alia drifted through the gates to the hospital cemetery. They walked behind his parents making a slow procession between the headstones. Overhead, the graveyard-birds were circling and crying out in their reedy voices, fighting for branches at the top of a bare tree. The minister was already at the graveside, anxious to get started. Burying the body of a traitor was a risk, even when it was a child. Alia had no doubt that it had cost Robb plenty to get him here.
The plain wooden casket was hanging over the open grave, strapped tightly to a metal frame. Alia’s stomach dropped when she saw it and her vision swam from focus. She tapped the bottle of tablets in her pocket knowing that they were the only reason she could face this day.
Ryan was beside her, leaning on a wooden cane they’d given him at the hospital. His face was bone white but, unlike her, he refused to look away from the grave. They had barely spoken since it happened and he ignored any attempt to talk about John. Even now, the few inches that separated them might as well have been a brick wall.
To her left, Eliza was heartbroken and crying quietly. Robb held her close and eventually she pressed her face into his shoulder, muffling the sound of each sob. Alia heard him speaking softly into her hair, his soothing voice at odds with the pain that showed on his own face.
“I should go,” she whispered to Ryan, feeling once more like an intruder in their grief. To her surprise, he grabbed her wrist though and held her in place.
“Please don’t,” the words passed clumsily from his swollen mouth and his eyes never left the ground. He loosened his grip and she took a half-step closer so that their arms were touching.
The minister began his eulogy, the words drifting between them like music. He spoke in a soft and lilting voice but the words were empty, holding no weight of the sacrifice that a twelve-year-old boy made for those he loved most. It struck Alia that four people huddled by a graveside was very poor payment for all he had done.
After a short prayer the priest closed his book and approached the family.
“I’m deeply sorry,” he said, shaking hands with Robb and quickly pocketing the bag of coins that he passed over.
“So what happens now?”
“Now?” the priest frowned, although it was painfully clear what Robb had meant.
“With my son?” They all stared at the coffin suspended above an empty grave. “With the burial?”
The priest blustered for a moment looking more and more uncomfortable. “It’s risk enough for me to be here. To involve the groundsmen…well they just couldn’t be trusted. It would cost too much.”
Alia thought Robb was going to attack him right there. Instead he detached himself from Eliza and dragged the priest by one arm to the very edge of the grave.
“I need to bury my son,” he growled.
“I could say another prayer if you like. While you and your family…” he at least had the good sense to leave the sentence unfinished.
While you and your family pick up those shovels and bury him yourself.
“Fuck your prayers,” Robb snarled, shoving him away. The priest lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell forwards on his hands and knees. He scrambled up and ran back into the hospital.
Alia didn’t know what to say. They all looked so worn out and broken. It was Robb who moved first, stooping beside the coffin to loosen the straps. Ryan eventually roused himself and limped to the other side. Suddenly a deep voice called out.
“Wait.”
Behind them, a dozen seveners filed through the gates forming a circle around the grave. Kellie Downs placed one hand on Robb’s shoulder and led him back to Eliza, while two more of the giants lowered John’s coffin into the ground. With tears falling down her cheeks, Alia recoiled at the sound of each clod of earth as it slipped from the seveners’ shovels and onto the wooden lid.
It was only when the hole was level that Ryan turned away. He gave a side-long glance to Alia, and she fell into step beside him. Robb and Eliza followed behind, but no one spoke or touched, or even drew breath too sharply.
They passed through the gate and onto the road which circled the hospital. Alia matched her pace to Ryan’s, seeing that he limped worse than his father now. They drifted along in silence until Alia glanced back and saw that Robb and Eliza were no longer with them. “Ryan.”
He followed her gaze and sighed wearily at the sight of his mother standing alone like a lost child. In the distance his father was back at the grave, his silhouette stark against the white skies.
“Shall I get her?” Alia said.
“No.”
He retraced his steps and stood before his mother. After a few words, she held him close although Alia saw how he waited straight-backed throughout the embrace. He broke away and beckoned her towards them.
“Will you wait?” It clearly hurt him to speak. “While I get Dad?”
Alia nodded. “Of course.”
He moved slowly, each step taking its toll, but eventually he was standing at the grave with his father. Alia watched them for a long time, not knowing if they spoke or simply waited in silence. In the failing light she saw Robb’s hand move up to rest on Ryan’s shoulder and to her surprise he didn’t flinch. That was when she dared to hope - as only John had been courageous enough to do - that maybe they could survive the fear and violence. Maybe they could re-build their lives and create a monument truly worthy of John’s sacrifice. Maybe life, one day, could be worth the living.
Epilogue
Kellie waited in the alcove, shrouded by darkness. The sun wasn’t up yet, but he had always preferred the dark. Besides, it was the only unguarded view he ever got of the two men who were now waiting on the station platform. Six weeks ago, their lives had been destroyed and Kellie thought there was no way back for them.
As he watched though, he saw tendrils of life clinging on and taking root. It was only a short exchange of words or a softening of body language, but it was enough to give the sevener some hope. Maybe this father and son could rebuild. Maybe they could get justice for the son and brother that was taken. And if that could happen Kellie wondered, then maybe it was time for him to step out from the darkness.
For now though, he slipped deeper into shadow and descended the ladder into the tunnels. He had forgotten when this particular one was built, but then he’d lived a very long life and that was to be expected. It hardly mattered anyway. The tunnels served a purpose and right now that was to conceal a dark secret. He chose his path instinctively, a left then a right, sometimes sloshing through water and sometimes stooping below a partially collapsed roof. Inevitably the direction was down.
The temperature had already risen by a couple of degrees and Kellie loosened the top button of his tunic. He had worn many uniforms over the years, but knew that the sevener blue and gold always gave him the most pride. He stowed that feeling though, aware that it had no place here today. There was nothing honourable about him being in the tunnels. Just a cold, calculated necessity.
Kellie paused before a metal door that was rusted orange in places. Thick bolts held even thicker hinges in place and these were sunk deep into a stone archway. A central bar ran down the door with a large wheel connected in the middle. Even the sevener gave a grunt of effort as he span the wheel and released the creaking locks. Then, with the weight of his shoulder, Kellie inched it open to reveal a small, dark cell. Instantly he balked at the overpowering stench of sweat and faeces.
Orange light painted the walls within and fell upon a wretched figure in the far corner.
The prisoner’s clothes were dishevelled and his face a jigsaw of broken bones. As he shrank away from the light, Kellie noted that those blue eyes had lost none of their sharpness.
The sevener moved further into the cell and watched Farren roll into a low crouch. His eyes flickered to the doorway, no doubt wondering how quick he could be.
Kellie scoffed. “If it’s another broken nose you’re after, by all means have a go.”
The prisoner had reach
ed the same conclusion and slumped against the wall. “So what is this then?” His voice was dry and gravelly from lack of use. “You going to turn me over to the Government?” He found that amusing. “I’m sure they’re very worried about me.”
Kellie said nothing. He knew how oppressive a silence could be and he let this one drag out, all the while staring at those blue eyes. Farren was unfazed and spent the time studying his cell now that he had light. His saw a bucket that was hanging from a spike on the wall.
“Ah that’s where you put it. I’m afraid I’ve been improvising until now,” he pointed at a large pile of shit in the opposite corner. Again Kellie said nothing and eventually a grin spread across Farren’s face.
“Something about this you find funny?” the sevener asked.
“Just you.”
Kellie bristled but said nothing.
“You’ve got me tucked away in your little dungeon,” Farren continued, “and now you don’t have the faintest clue what to do with me.”
Kellie crouched down in front of him so that their faces were only inches apart. “The mistake you’ve made,” he said quietly. “Is thinking that I have to do anything. I can keep you here until the flesh rots from your bones and not a soul would know about it.” Somewhere outside the cell there was the scuttling of tiny feet and a tunnel rat slunk past the doorway.
“But it’s not going to come to that. Do you know why? Because one day you’ll ask…no… you’ll beg for me to let you help.” The sevener turned away and moved back through the doorway and into the tunnel.
“And why would I ever want to help you?” Farren shouted, his voice betraying the fear he felt.
“Because of Robb Calloway,” Kellie said quietly. “And the fact that right now, I’m the only one holding him back.” The squeal of the hinges silenced his screams as the door sealed shut.
Straybeck Rising Page 33