I reached up to my webbing and pulled two more shells free, slotting them into the breech, the clicked it shut and raised the weapon to my shoulder.
A hundred words came to mind, sayings that I’d heard and collected over the years, or perhaps a recounting of this man’s misdeeds in the few minutes since I’d met him, but in the end all of those words were worthless, less than ash on the wind.
Instead I let the shotgun speak for me, the trigger light against my finger as I fired both barrels again.
The man screamed and flung up his hands but too late, the body completing the motion even after the brain had died as two barrels-worth of shot drove through his skull from close range, erasing his face from everything except my memory.
I opened the breech again and reloaded, only then looking down at Emily, who still lay in the road with her trousers around her knees and several angry looking red scratches on her thighs.
Her face was what drew me, however. Her eyes were huge, and as she stared up at me it almost seemed that she didn’t recognise who I was.
“Are you ok?” She asked quietly, sitting up awkwardly, Burgen still strapped to her back as she wriggled her trousers back up.
I shook my head and tried to speak, but the shaking wouldn’t stop, going from my head to my arms, down to my knees until I couldn’t stand, collapsing on the road as my whole body shuddered.
Despite her own ordeal, Emily dropped her pack and put her arms around me, holding me close and rocking me gently as sobs poured out of me uncontrollably. Whether they were for the lives I’d just taken, or the loss of something in my own soul I couldn’t tell. Because, despite everything I’d ever believed about violence not being the answer, god help me if some long-denied part of me hadn’t enjoyed killing those men.
Chapter 30
“Who do you think they were?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
We’d walked in silence and were now reaching the far edge of Maidenhead, having stopped only to collect the pistol before leaving the twisted, mangled bodies lying in the street where they’d fallen.
Emily shrugged. “Probably locals that hid when the soldiers came though. Maybe the same guys we heard outside the shop. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
I shook my head. “I guess not”.
We lapsed into silence again, although far more watchful than the one that had almost gotten us killed earlier. Every wall, tree or bush was now a potential risk, cover for an attacker to hide behind and I scanned each of them carefully with the shotgun held ready.
I still didn’t know how to feel. I knew I should feel guilt, remorse maybe, but instead I just felt empty, as if my sense of self had been drained away by the atrocity I’d just committed.
If someone had told me a week ago that I would kill three men in broad daylight in the middle of the street, I would have laughed in their faces. I savoured the words as they ran through my mind, testing each one for its sting but finding none. Murder, killed, stabbed, shot. None of them evoked a reaction more than a vague stirring somewhere deep in my gut, as if the actions those words hung on were simply things that had to be done now, as mundane as cleaning ones teeth or taking a shit.
I figured that I was probably in shock, and wondered if it would wear of suddenly to leave me paralysed with guilt, unable to come to terms with the terrible thing I’d done.
But was it so terrible? They had meant to hurt us, kill us even, and was it wrong to kill to stop it from happening to yourself and the ones you cared about?
My mind spun in circles, the whispering voices of conscience and reason fighting with each other in a battle that I couldn’t bring myself to care about.
Instead I let new-found instincts take over, my eyes roving for threats while my mind carried on its ever-spiralling debate without me seeming to take part.
We walked on the A404, signs telling us to keep going for High Wycombe, where we would merge with the M40 and then follow that to Manchester. Somehow, approaching a road that would have taken us less than an hour by car was a huge achievement, and I hoped that we would find another vehicle soon considering how dangerous walking was proving to be.
I was also more than a little worried about Emily. Since the attack she’d withdrawn into herself, talking when spoken to but never volunteering information or making any attempt at conversation without prompting. I knew it had to be a reaction to the horrific attack, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject without blundering into it like an idiot and causing more damage, so I kept quiet and watched her carefully in case she needed me.
The sun was low in the sky when we finally reached High Wycombe, having spent the day walking past tall fences that had blocked the noise of the road from the houses nearby in better times, the tips of trees poking over as if watching our lonely journey.
As we trudged down the slip road onto the M40, the road that would take us to Melody, I called a halt.
“What do you think, give it a mile or so to get away from the town and find a place to camp?” I asked, getting a weary shrug and a nod in return.
We walked towards the setting sun, visible occasionally through the puffy clouds that still filled the sky, my ankle feeling better for the support of the boots but my toes painful from where the stiff leather rubbed at them.
For a moment I caught myself wishing that we could book into a hotel, have a lazy soak in the bath and then eat a huge plate of cheap-and-cheerful food in a nearby pub, but banished the thought as whimsical and childish before it could take hold.
The world had changed. In less than a week, everything had turned on its head, and if I was to survive then I needed to think practically, not spend my hours wishing for things that would never be.
I had to call Emily’s name three times when I found a suitable camping spot. She finally stopped and did little more than run her eyes over the clearing I’d pointed to before walking over to it and dropping her Bergen.
It was only thirty or so metres away from the road but I’d been walking up on the high verge and while it was visible from here in the light, no one from the road could see it and at night you’d have to trip right over us to know we were there.
A few days ago I would have been proud of my newfound ability but now it was just survival.
I set the cooker up while Emily pitched the tent, but instead of joining me for the meal she crawled inside and zipped it shut behind her without a word.
I ate my food alone, staring up at the tops of the trees to catch occasional glimpses of the stars in the early evening sky when the cloud allowed, and considered giving Emily her space by sleeping outside.
I didn’t consider it for long, however, as a light rain began to fall and I hurried to stow everything away before unzipping the tent and crawling in.
Emily’s eyes stared at me in the semi-darkness, the huge, luminous orbs of a wounded animal or scared child. Without a word, I removed my boots and outer clothing, then slid into my sleeping bag and reached out to put an arm around her, drawing her in close so that her back was to my chest and my face rested in her hair. Her body jerked as I touched her, then she relaxed and snuggled in close as silent sobs wracked her small frame.
There was no passion there, no repeat of our earlier tension, but instead just the warm comfort of another human being held close in a world that no longer made sense.
Chapter 31
The next three days were almost identical. Wake up, make breakfast, strike the tent and walk along the M40, sticking to the hard shoulder and listening carefully for any sign of military vehicles that we might have to hide from.
I had little doubt that we would be scooped up and taken away were we to be found, although I had no idea where or why they were taking people.
As the days went on we both came back to ourselves a little. My detachment seemed to be fading, although I still lacked the remorse I felt should be appropriate, and Emily began to talk again, telling me stories of her childhood that occasionally had me crying with laughter as she looked
on with a smile. It sounded like growing up with Ralph for a father had been interesting, and I wished I’d know my father for longer as I listened to the stories.
“What about your parents?” Emily asked late on the third day, as if reading my mind, “you never talk about them”.
I shrugged. “Not much to tell. My father died when I was fairly young. He was only fifty eight but he had a heart attack. My mum did her best after that but we were always struggling to make ends meet. She had a little business going repairing clothes out of the back room, and between that and what the government gave us we had enough, but we never went on holiday or even really went away for the weekend, unless it was to her sister’s in Norfolk”.
“Any brothers or sisters?”
I shook my head. “No, and I think I was an accident to be honest. My mum was always really uptight, even before my dad died. She used to treat me like I was a necessary evil. I don’t think she ever once actually asked me about my life other than to make sure I wasn’t sick. Maybe she would have been better off with a dog”.
I tried to keep the sadness out of my voice but failed. It was always the same when I thought about her, wondering why we had never been close. It made hearing the stories and seeing the way Emily, Ralph and Harriet were with each other utterly charming, but at the same time a stark reminder that I’d never had those things.
Which was why, I’d always promised, I would make sure that when I had a child we would be friends as well as family, and that we would share everything.
Emily squeezed my arm briefly as she walked past, climbing a slip road for a better view of the terrain ahead.
I followed her slowly and was half way up when she came running back down at a flat out sprint.
“Get off the road!” She said, grabbing me and pulling me back the way we’d come.
I complied without thought, following her as she raced for a stand of trees, the trunks tucked behind the hedge that lined the road.
We forced our way through the hedge and made for the trees, throwing ourselves flat on the ground as a faint rumble reached my ears.
“What is it?” I asked, gasping to get my breath back after the sudden run.
“Army convoy”, she whispered, despite the noise coming from the road. “Eight trucks, several hundred soldiers and a couple of Landrovers at the front with .50 cal machine guns. Looks more like an invading force than a rescue mission.
“Where the hell are they all coming from?” I whispered back.
She shrugged and peered around the tree, trying to see the road through the thick hedge with little success.
The sound of engines grew louder, and then the faint sound of marching feet joined it. Joining Emily in looking around the tree, I could just make out a forest of legs in the same camo we were wearing marching past on the road.
As I watched, the trucks pulled to a halt and a voice called out, telling the men to break ranks and have chow.
“Shit”, Emily breathed, “that means they’ll put out sentries and they’ll push out at least this far. We need to move, now”.
Without waiting to see if I followed she moved back from the trees, turning and hurrying across the field, horribly exposed as she made for the hedge on the far side. Seeing no other option I followed her, but I hadn’t made it more than a few feet when I heard a shout from the road and a dozen soldiers pushed through the hedge, rifles to their shoulders.
“Halt or we fire!” The voice rang out from just the other side of the trees, and I saw Emily stiffen, then stop and raise her hands, turning back to face them.
I thought for a minute they hadn’t seen me, but then the voice called again.
“And you, behind the trees. Put the weapon down and step to your right”.
I exchanged an anguished look with Emily. There was nothing we could do but comply, anything else and I had no doubt we’d be fired upon, and there was no way that all twelve of them could miss.
I put the shotgun down carefully and raised my hands, stepping slowly to my right as I turned to look at the soldiers.
Twelve men knelt in a firing line, half with their rifles trained on me and the others on Emily, while a thirteenth man stood slightly behind them, a tab with sergeant’s stripes in the centre of his chest.
“You, the man, step forward and walk to your left until you reach the end of the line”, he said, and I did as instructed, stopping as I came within a few feet of the end soldier.
At a nod from his sergeant, this soldier slung his rifle and pushed me roughly onto my front, removing the Bergen and my belt, including the knife, before pulling out a set of large cable ties and binding my wrists together uncomfortably tight.
I gasped in pain but he ignored me, instead going through my pockets and clothing until he was sure I had nothing else that might be a threat.
As he took my wallet, I turned my head to look at him.
“Please”, I said, “there’s a picture of my little girl in there, don’t take it”.
The young soldier glanced at the sergeant, who shrugged.
“All personal effects to be retained by us until everything has been processed. Now shut up”. He turned back to Emily. “You, approach slowly, hands behind your head. If I see anything I don’t like, you get shot”.
I couldn’t see her approach, held down as I was in the grass, but I heard her hit the ground as two soldiers left the line, one returning to hand her pistol to the sergeant while the other searched her.
“Hey, I’m a sergeant in the Royal Electro…ugh!” I tried to turn my head to see what was happening but the soldier was ready for me, planting a knee in my spine and forcing me into the earth so hard I chewed mud.
“The prisoner will not speak unless ordered to!” The sergeant shouted, “whoever they think they might be!”
A few moments later the sergeant barked another order and the line broke, two soldiers hauling me to my feet while another pair took hold of Emily, marching us back through the hedge and onto the road to the curious stares of the rest of the soldiers.
It was an impressive convoy. The road fairly teemed with soldiers, and as we were pushed towards one of the trucks a man with two golden pips on his chest walked over and motioned for the men walking us to stop.
“What have we here?” He said, looking me up and down and then switching his gaze to Emily.
“They were trying to run away”, the sergeant said, “but when we caught them, this one claimed to be a sergeant, REME I think”.
He pointed at Emily and the officer strode over to stand in front of her.
“Is that correct?”
She nodded. “Sergeant Emily Morris, 1st Battalion REME. Service number 25095611, sir”.
He looked at her for a long while before speaking.
“So why is it, sergeant, that you were trying to make off rather than identify yourself?”
“Seen a lot of strange things sir, wasn’t sure what was going on, and I, uh, I’m attending to a family matter sir”.
She glanced over at me as she spoke and I saw the hopelessness in her expression. Now we were caught up in whatever great machine these people worked for, there was little hope of us getting free to find Melody unless we were very lucky.
“A family matter? That doesn’t explain why you were trying to avoid us. Still, you can explain all that to the Colonel”.
He signalled to the sergeant. “Detail four men and take them back to base in one of the Landrovers”.
“Sir”.
Arms seized us again and we were hustled into the back of one of the vehicles, wedged onto metal benches in the back while our gear was placed safely out of reach. Four soldiers climbed in with us and the Landrover pulled a U-turn, heading northwest along the M40.
“I don’t suppose you can tell us where we’re going, can you?” I asked the soldier next to me.
He elbowed me in the ribs hard enough to hurt. “No talking”.
I winced and looked over at Emily, hoping to see something in her e
xpression, confidence perhaps, but instead I could only see a worry that mirrored my own as we were driven in silence to whatever fate now awaited us.
Chapter 32
We were on the M40 for about thirty minutes before the driver pulled off and headed west, first taking a main road and then cutting through country lanes that twisted and turned and had me thoroughly lost in minutes.
Although any attempt to speak was dealt with aggressively, our escort seemed to have no problems with letting me lean forward so that I could see where we were going.
I was more than a little nervous of our silent, too-young looking guards, their eyes hard under their Kevlar helmets and their rifles always within easy reach. It was enough to convince me that trying anything other than doing exactly what they told us to would be a mistake.
Until, that is, we crested a hill and I looked out over the valley below, and the strangest sight met my eyes.
To our right was a small town with rows of pretty-looking houses and neat gardens, seemingly untouched by what had happened. Just to the west of the town was what could only be a military base, with high fences, squat, soulless buildings and a large field with a long airstrip.
In a huge perimeter around that, however, someone had strung out barbed and razor wire, with hastily erected guard towers dotted along the fence, the glint of sunlight on rifle barrels and machine guns telling me that they were manned.
Within that new perimeter, hundreds of tiny figures were working, some raising what looked to be small buildings, while others walked out towards the fields that were within the fence, some holding livestock while others had the remains of crops growing in them.
“What the hell is that?” I said, forgetting to remain silent, and got another elbow in the ribs for my trouble, this one hard enough to bring tears to my eyes as I struggled to breathe.
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