by Robin Crumby
Jack’s voice interrupted his internal monologue. “Make yourself useful will you, Zed.”
“Sure Jack. What do you need?”
“Why don’t we dust off that old flag Greta found and put on a bit of a show for our Navy friends.”
Zed chuckled at the thought. He wasn’t the slightest bit patriotic but it seemed right in the circumstances. They had found a dusty old Union Jack in a locked cupboard that had waited for just such an occasion. He retrieved the flag from the shelf downstairs and unfurled it, making sure it was the right way up. He crossed the courtyard, climbed the stairs and untied the halyard, securing the flag top and bottom before hoisting it high over the castle battlements. He stepped back admiring his handiwork, the Union Jack fluttering proudly in the strengthening wind. On the roof of the Gun Tower, Jack watched the flag’s ascent, ignoring its faded colours and torn leading edge. He was momentarily overcome by a sense of pride and patriotism, of everything they had achieved thus far. Though no one could see him, it felt appropriate to honour the moment and saluted the flag, as he had been taught so many years ago.
“Sentimental old sod,” muttered Zed under his breath spotting Jack with his arm raised in salute.
***
Riley joined Zed on the upper walkway as he finished lashing the flag halyard in place on to the small cleat on the shaft of the flagpole, standing a few meters away looking him up and down. He’d lost weight, she thought. His trousers seemed to bunch at the hip, his belt a couple of notches tighter than before. She wandered over and they both stood perfectly still watching the flag, heads tilted to one side, neither of them quite sure what to make of it all. Seeing the flag flying over Hurst seemed both incongruous and fitting all at the same time. The sense of history, shared purpose, and unity the flag symbolized felt like a relic from another age, familiar and alien to this new generation living here, five centuries after the first. Zed shrugged his shoulders and made as if to leave, taking a final deep breath of sea air before heading inside.
The breath seemed to catch in his throat and he was suddenly wracked by a fit of coughing. Riley’s head whipped round and watched with increasing concern as he seemed to fight for breath, bent double, hacking away. The words of Sister Theodora were still fresh in her mind, puzzling over what she had said about Zed being the carrier and source of the outbreak. She took a couple of steps away from him, as if somehow suddenly disconnected, their bonds fractured, watching his coughing dispassionately.
Up on the roof of the Gun Tower, Jack heard the coughing too and peered over the battlements. With a final heave, gasping for breath, Riley ran up behind him and slapped him forcefully between the shoulder blades. Zed spat something on the ground and straightened up red in the face. Riley slapped him again for good measure as he wiped spittle from his lips, gesturing for her to stop.
“You OK big fella?” inquired Riley suspiciously. “You don’t sound so good. How long have you had that cough?” she said, backing away again.
“What that little thing?” his voice was raspy and brittle. “Teach me to breathe with my mouth open. Swallowed a fly Riley, that’s all. Bit jumpy aren’t you? Scared of a little cough?”
She stared open mouthed at him, caught somewhere between mirth and anger, not sure whether he was joking or not.
“Seriously Riley. I’m fine. Trust me.”
Riley remembered that he always said that when he was lying, a smile beginning to form on her lips, despite her not being completely certain still.
Jack looked on from a distance, trying to read Riley’s expression as she remonstrated with him, straining to hear the exchange that followed, but her words were lost on a gust of wind. A rainsquall heading towards them from the island deposited its first drops on his bare head. Jack peered up into the darkening skies, not liking what he saw and hurried back inside to the comfort and warmth of the castle keep.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Zed when he’d got his breath back, watching Jack head back inside.
“Adele. I was thinking about Adele again,” said Riley looking down at her feet and sighing deeply. She screwed up her face. “Reckon she’s alright though. Those nuns will look after her. They have enough hot towels and volunteer midwives to get the baby out safely. She’s in good hands. Don’t you think? ”
Zed nodded then laughed, struck by a question that had been niggling him but never articulated before. “What if it’s a baby boy?” He grinned at Riley, like someone laughing at their own joke. Riley smiled back at him, a mischievous look on her face.
“Now that would put the cat amongst the pigeons eh? Love to see the look on that old bat’s face when she finds out.”
“Hey, did you hear about Terra and what happened on the island?” asked Zed.
“Yeah, good riddance, I say. Her and I never saw eye to eye. And let me tell you, she isn’t your biggest fan either.”
“Terra’s alright. Come on, what’s she ever done to you anyway?”
“She’s such a fake. Says what people want to hear. She’s always working an angle. Lies through her teeth most of the time. Trust me, it takes one to know one. Watch your back when she’s around. Seriously.”
Zed didn’t look too convinced and tried to change the subject.
There was a shout from the far end of the complex, followed by the hand bell ringing three times. That was the signal for one or more persons approaching the castle by foot. Zed and Riley raced towards the western wall that looked back along the shingle spit towards the town of Milford. Tommy was there first along with several others, taking it in turns to look through the binoculars. By the time they got there, one of the younger guys had got the rifle out and was looking down the telescopic sight, trying to make out the shape in the distance. Behind them they could hear Jack hobbling slowly across the courtyard shouting at the assembled crowd on the ramparts, asking for answers, but being ignored.
Zed took the stairs two at a time, Riley right behind him. He grabbed the binoculars and took a moment to locate the approaching shapes.
“I can take them as soon as they’re in range,” said the kid. “Which one first? The guy or the girl?”
“Don’t shoot you idiot. That’s one of ours. The girl I don’t recognise.”
“Can I shoot her then?” asked the boy mischievously.
“No. Give me that rifle before you hurt yourself,” said Zed, snatching the gun and cuffing the lad on the back of his head.
Riley and Zed ran round to the front entrance and out onto the shingle, meeting the two figures as they reached the beginning of the castle complex. The heavy-set man was barely recognisable, his head covered in blood, filthy clothes shredded in places, supported by a young girl who Riley seemed to half-remember, nodding in her direction.
“Top of the morning to you Zed. Riley, how are you?” said Joe, his voice raspy and brittle.
“Better than you by the looks of things. Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead?”
“I think I was, briefly. This here’s Jean. I rescued her, or rather, she rescued me and then I rescued her right back. We’ve been through the wars. Fell in with the wrong crowd. But they underestimated the fat man, what can I say?”
“Big mistake. Big mistake,” laughed Zed, slapping him on the shoulder and welcoming him home. “Look forward to hearing all about it. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”
“Thanks for the welcome committee. And for not shooting us. Glad to be home. Jean? This here’s Riley. She’s a friend of Stella’s. She’ll look after you.”
Riley warmly shook her hand and looked her up and down. “Any friend of Stella’s is a friend of mine. Come on, you’re going to like it here, if you can put up with all the men that is.”
Chapter fifty-nine
After a leisurely breakfast and friendly inquisition, Terra and Briggs adjourned to a well-appointed drawing room in one of the oldest parts of Carisbrooke Castle. He held the door open and waited for her to go in. Following close behind was the e
normous bulk of one of his most trusted deputies. Terra had overheard their confidential discussion barely above a whisper with the man with the extravagant tattoos on his face. His name was Hatch or Hutch. Anyway, something that made her think of rabbits.
A recently lit fire crackled and spat sparks in the enormous hearth, stacked with logs and kindling that was just beginning to catch. She could see scrunched up paper still burning at its core. To the right of the fire was a large pile of newspapers. She angled her head trying to make out the masthead, cover picture and headline on the topmost copy. It was dated more than two years ago at the very start of the outbreak. She scanned the copy. Rumours of a terrorist attack, photos of royal baby, political crisis. It had been several months since she’d read a magazine or paper. At Hurst, Scottie had religiously collected hundreds of broadsheets, local papers, trade journals, science papers and fashion magazines, chronicling the chaos of the outbreak. The first early warning signs ignored, dismissed as localized, non-threatening to the developed world. The wild theories and daily updates as the scale of the outbreak became clear. The last issues had been single sheets as printing works and newspaper offices closed down in short order.
Terra reflected on the fact that the world had become an altogether smaller place. So little was known of what was happening elsewhere beyond their immediate environment. Nowadays people tended to view the world with blinkers on, busying themselves with what was in front of their noses and around them. There seemed little point worrying about what lay beyond. She was reminded of Jack’s mantra at Hurst that one of the keys to happiness was never to worry about things outside your control. Concentrate on the here and now, or at least that’s what her father had always told her.
There was a chill in the air that the fire had not quite dispelled. Terra stood with her back to the fire in her bare feet, her toes scrunching in the deep pile of a large red rug marked by small burn holes where coals had fallen from an unattended grate. The room was impressive with portraits of distinguished noblemen adorning the walls. A framed watercolour had been left propped against a bookshelf, jostling for space with other statues and trophies collecting dust against the walls, presumably stolen from the surrounding area by Briggs’s men. In the corner, in pride of place, stood a suit of armour in richly polished metal, a mace in one hand together with a ball and chain in the other.
Briggs closed the oak-framed door and slumped into his favourite armchair set nearest the fire. He watched Terra as she moved around the room noting where she lingered, what she picked up, and what she ignored in his growing collection of looted artworks.
She felt his eyes following her and accentuated the sway of her hips as she walked, planting her bare feet carefully to avoid some broken glass on the wooden floor. She made sure he was watching closely, retaining his attention by flicking her head coquettishly to the left, making eye contact over her shoulder.
She was enjoying this fleeting sense of power and sway she held over him. She thought she sensed conflict, as he fought his instinct to trust her. She smiled inwardly, encouraged by his uncertainty.
He waited for her to finish her turn round the room, enjoying the contours of the dress and the way it hugged her figure, before patting his lap, inviting her to join him. She blushed and tried to laugh off his request, but quickly realized from the humourless expression that he would not take no for an answer.
She approached the armchair but hesitated, looking awkwardly at him. It reminded her of Christmases past as a young girl, when Uncle Sebastian had insisted that she sit on his lap. An unwanted arm snaked around her waist, coarse hand massaging her shoulders. It made her shudder involuntarily even now after all these years.
He patted his knee again and said: “Come on. I’m not going to bite.”
She modestly perched on his knee, but he quickly grabbed her waist and manhandled her across his lap, so their mouths were close to each other. She was powerfully aware of the smell of the man. He was in need of a good bath. She did her best to remain calm as he studied his prize, drinking her in, angling her chin to left and right, studying the contours of her face. In the folds of her cardigan sleeve she adjusted a small blade she had smuggled from the breakfast table. It was a wooden-handled kitchen knife with a serrated edge. The server had been careless in leaving a knife this sharp within reach and forgetting to notice its absence on clearing.
She might never get this close to Briggs again. His neck was thickly muscled above a black sweater, a bulging vein close enough to bite. She summoned up the courage to do the deed, to get it over with, to rid the world of this tyrant. The neck was her best option. An unsurvivable wound. A clean kill. It was up to her. A quick stab with the knife and it would all be over in seconds. And yet, she found reasons to defer. Could she really kill someone in cold blood?
He smiled at her, enjoying her discomfort, but growing impatient at her reluctance to relax, her body stiff and tense, unresponsive to his touch. The smile faded on his lips and turned into a snarl as he bared his teeth and whispered: “You need to learn, woman. Learn to appreciate me.”
He pulled her closer. His mouth was right next to her cheek, his breath sour and hot. His lips caressed her ear, drawing the lobe and stud earring she wore between his teeth and nibbling gently. She fought to maintain control, her heart racing, her breaths short. He mistook this for excitement and continued.
The wooden hilt of the knife slipped against her wrist and the blade caught in the flesh of her index finger. With the weight of his body against her arm, the knife threatened to break the skin and draw blood. Her moment had come, if she could free her hand, it was now or never. Strike or lose the chance. It would be over in a moment.
There was a knock at the door and one of Briggs’s henchmen didn’t wait for an answer and came in followed by Victor, the first officer from the Maersk Charlotte. Briggs looked affronted by this interruption, his head buried in Terra’s neck. He loosened his grip slightly and Terra took advantage of the distraction, springing to her feet before he could grab her wrist again.
There was a smirk on Victor’s lips as his eyes flicked from Terra back to Briggs, conscious he was interrupting this moment of intimacy, enjoying her discomfort as she stood awkwardly, hands fidgeting like a frightened child.
“What do you want Victor? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“I can see you’re busy. I won’t keep you long. I’ve finished interrogating the others. They know nothing. They are locals, islanders, nothing more. Next time, we need to get an American.”
His voice was heavily accented, East European, certainly. Terra couldn’t place it. Baltic states, former Soviet Union. Latvian or Estonian she guessed, waiting for Victor to continue, wondering how many other hostages they had taken from Osborne.
“I thought you should know the Maersk Charlotte is on the move. She weighed anchor this morning and is heading into Southampton docks to begin unloading. The Royal Navy has rigged up power to one of the giant cranes. They will begin unloading the humanitarian supplies, unless that is, we choose to stop them. Construction of the first of the refugee centers is expected on the island within the week.”
“Good, good. Just like we planned. And our men? Are they in position?” asked Briggs.
“They are, as you instructed. We have made contact with the hospital. Copper is now in charge. It would seem that his boss met with an untimely accident during their failed attack on Hurst.”
“That is most unfortunate. How careless. And this new man, Copper. Is he someone we can do business with? Can he be trusted?”
“Oh yes, he is a policeman. None more trustworthy, no? He and I go way back. He should prove a useful ally. He tells me their doctors are working on a prototype vaccine. They have already synthesized a strain of the virus, portable and deadly. They are conducting clinical trials to perfect them. He can start sending us samples as soon as we’re ready.”
Victor was about to divulge further details when he paused, his mouth half open.
His eyes darted across to Terra who was listening to the exchange, betrayed by a look of concern she failed to hide on learning about the attack on Hurst, her thoughts turning to Jack and the rest of the team.
“What about her? Are we to trust her? Surely, her loyalties lie with Hurst and the Americans. You should not be fooled by her kisses.”
Terra made as if to speak, to defend herself at Victor’s accusations, throwing her arms wide in a gesture of innocence. Victor nodded to the henchman who had entered with him and he grabbed Terra by the wrist, bending her arm backwards. He patted her down for concealed weapons and wrestled the small kitchen knife from her sleeve and held it up for Briggs to see.
“There. Now you see. This one you must watch like a hawk. She is not to be trusted. One of my men saw her take this earlier, but failed to mention it till just now. You were lucky I got here when I did.”