by Sam Kates
The Commune had taken place between the wooden posts, in and around the space now occupied by stones. She hadn’t been the Keeper, merely the Chosen, when they had called the tribes of Britain to them. The Britons had laid aside their crude weapons and petty grudges, and come. Then, over many months, they had brought in the bluestones.
This was the first time she had viewed the site since the addition of the larger sarsen stones. Although Milandra could appreciate the aesthetic value they added to the monument, they would have to be removed.
Jason Grant came and stood by her side.
“Takes you back, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Who’d have thought all those centuries ago that so much time would go by before the Great Coming?”
“Over half of those who stood here and took part in the Commune have passed.”
“And only a handful replaced. Our numbers on Earth Haven have grown thin. If the Great Coming was not happening now, soon too few of us might have remained to carry out the Cleansing.”
“Or mankind would have completed Earth Haven’s destruction.” Milandra shivered in the fresh breeze. “Come. Let us assess the task at hand.”
Together they walked towards the stones. In front of the outer circle lay a bundle of material. As they drew nearer, Milandra could see that the bundle was made up of clothes. At the same time, a familiar odour reached them on the breeze.
Inside the circle of sarsen stones, lying among the bluestones, were around thirty corpses of men and women. Each one was naked. The cold weather had slowed decomposition, but crows and foxes and rats had made ragged holes in the flesh.
She and Grant stared at the bodies, neither speaking. Near them the remains of an elderly couple lay face to face, arms encircling, as though they had decided at the end to go wrapped in each other’s embrace. Milandra’s gaze wandered around the circle; many of the bodies were lying in pairs in similar poses.
She sighed. “It’s one thing to know that we’ve caused so many deaths. Quite another to see the evidence laid out before us like this.”
She glanced sideways at Grant, aware that she may have spoken a little recklessly, but he was nodding as if he agreed with her.
Others were arriving and Milandra shook herself to dispel the feeling of melancholy that had settled into her.
“Okay,” she said in a businesslike tone. “First thing is to set the drones to removing and burning these corpses.”
“I recommend they are taken to the Burning Fields,” said Grant, “or else the stench of singeing hair and flesh will be in our nostrils for the three or four days we’re going to be here.”
“Agreed. We’re going to have to endure that stench at the end, but no point in prolonging it unnecessarily. They can begin by taking the bodies out of the circle so that the crane can make a start on moving the sarsen stones.”
“I suggest that then the bluestones are all removed to outside the circle so we can establish where the original pits are situated.”
“Some have already been excavated so finding the others shouldn’t be difficult. The pits will have to be redug and the holes for the stones to sit in behind them.” Milandra glanced at the skies. “No sign of rain at present. The ground is hard, but the bulldozers may be able to help with digging the pits.”
“No,” said Grant. “There’s no finesse with those things. The pits will have to be dug by hand to ensure the energy is properly channelled.”
“I’ll leave that to your expertise, Jason.” She looked around at the stones. “This place was a fortuitous find indeed. You can feel the power beneath our feet.” She nodded towards the corpses. “I wonder if those poor souls could feel it, too, and that’s why they decided to spend their last hours here.”
Grant turned away to start issuing orders.
Milandra strolled around the edge of the circle, feeling the energy in the ground reinvigorating her. Three or four nights from now and their work here would be done. There would be nothing more they could do to prepare for the Great Coming. The success or otherwise of that venture lay in the hands of her people setting out from Earth Home. If she felt the occasional twinge of guilt at her sympathy for humans and the things she had done to help the few survivors in Britain, and the things she suspected but would still not fully admit to herself that she was going to do, she had nevertheless done as well as she could by her people. If the Great Coming failed, no fault would lie on her.
* * * * *
The outside walls of the car park were clad in slatted slabs of concrete that allowed little natural light to enter. The interior was therefore dim and shadowy. Trying to step as quietly as burglars, Colleen and Howard hurried to the back of the car park to where the first ramp bent around to the right to reach the next level.
Colleen paused, hugging the shadow of a concrete pillar, and peered back at the entrance.
Above the bass line of her heart, she could hear the click-clop of Clint’s cowboy boots. She held her breath as the sound grew louder.
Unmistakable due to the Stetson, Clint’s silhouette appeared at the opening and began to cross the gap. Colleen started to breathe out. . . . then inhaled sharply. He had stopped. Slowly, he turned to face into the car park.
Colleen stepped fully behind the pillar and peeped around it. A squeak of alarm tried to escape her lips and she thrust her knuckles into her mouth to stop it. Clint was striding towards her.
She glanced behind to the ramp to warn Howard, but he wasn’t there. Trying to keep a lid on the panic that rose in her throat like bile, Colleen began up the ramp. She didn’t need to glance around the pillar to see if Clint was still advancing. The steady click-clop told her everything she needed to know.
At the top of the ramp she started along the next level between the rows of parked cars. Not every space was occupied; clearly some drivers had felt well enough to collect their cars before going home to climb into their death beds.
Grey daylight slanted in from the side and end walls, but pillars and cars cast deep shadows. Colleen peered apprehensively into each dark place that she passed in case Howard had decided to hide, though why he should do that her thoughts were not clear enough to consider.
She reached the end of the level and faced a choice. Another ramp led upwards to the next storey; a horizontal driveway led across to the other half of the car park that contained the down ramps to the exit. A quick glance behind her confirmed what her ears had already told her: Clint had not followed her up to this level. She could no longer hear the clomp of his boots, not even faintly. She listened harder, straining for a sound that might give her a clue to where Howard had gone, but the car park was as hushed as a cathedral.
Mentally flipping a coin, Colleen crossed to the other half of the structure; if she didn’t find Howard here, she could ascend to the next level up the ramp that emerged in front of her.
She looked to her right. Shadows and silence. Unlikely to be concealing Howard but she needed to be sure before going upwards. Taking a deep breath and a tighter grip on the golf club, she crept forward on the balls and toes of her feet, senses alert for any sound or movement. Silence and stillness reigned. Reaching the end of the building, where another shadowy down ramp led back to the ground floor, she stopped to listen again. If Clint was moving, she’d be able to hear him. He was either standing stock still or had left the car park.
Daring to relax a little—just a little—Colleen turned and began to retrace her steps towards the ramp that emerged from the upper level. She wasn’t sure how many storeys the car park contained, but she must surely find Howard on the next one.
The hand came from behind and clamped around her mouth before she could so much as gasp. A smell of damp leather enveloped her. Another hand gripped her right forearm, squeezing so tightly that she cried out against the fleshy palm that pressed against her lips. The muffled sound of her cry was drowned by the clatter of the golf club hitting the floor.
“Hello, my beaut,” drawled a voice in her ear; a voice she recogn
ised and despised. A waft of curdled-milk breath caressed her face and she almost gagged. Something firm pressed into the small of her back. The hand clutching her arm let go and withdrew. Before she could react, it reappeared holding something metallic. A click and the thin blade slid out. “I think you might have something belonging to me,” said Clint.
The switchblade moved towards her face and paused, less than an inch from the skin of her right cheek. She tried to pull back, but she had nowhere to go. The back of her head hit something hard and unyielding. A shoulder.
Another waft of foul breath. “Move your right hand slowly to wherever you’ve got it. Take it out and hand it to me.”
Her eyes never leaving the blade, Colleen moved her hand to her jacket pocket and extracted the wallet. She held it up.
“I’m going to take away the hand over your mouth. If you scream or call out to gramps, I’ll slit your cheek so you can clean your teeth without parting your lips.”
Colleen drew in a shuddering breath as the hand let go. Her tongue darted out and she tasted the salty tang of his sweat. She almost gagged again. Leather-clad arms still encircling her, the knife was passed from right hand to left; the right relieved her of the wallet.
“Now. . . .” said Clint.
The firm object in her back moved down a little until it pressed against her buttocks. It passed along one cheek, pausing to push tighter in the middle, before passing over the other cheek. The blade swayed in front of her face, mesmerising her like a serpent being charmed.
Clint’s voice sounded a little breathless as though he had run up a flight of stairs.
“My beaut, you have one hell of a rump. I’m gonna ride it like a rodeo mustang. Oh yes siree. We’ll find a car, I think. One that’s unlocked. Or we’ll smash a window. You won’t scrape your knees as much on the back seat of a car. But first. . . .”
Colleen tensed as the right hand reappeared, without the wallet, and moved to her jacket. It pulled the zip down to her navel. She spoke the first words that came into her head that might give him pause.
“Howard has a gun.”
The blade moved towards her face and she gasped at how cold it felt against her cheek. She was helpless to prevent the whimper escaping; she sounded like a puppy.
“Like hell he has. Where is the old fart anyhow?”
“Gone to fetch it. He’s meeting me here.”
The flat of the blade pressed harder against her cheek so that she became acutely aware of how sharp the edges were. She feared her skin was already parting under their touch.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire. Ha! Your arse will feel like it’s on fire by the time I’ve finished riding it.”
The pressure of the blade decreased a little, but it remained pressed to her cheek. His right hand moved inside her jacket. It pulled up her jumper and the tee-shirt she wore beneath. She did not wear a bra; her breasts retained much of the pertness of youth and, now liberated from social mores, she enjoyed the freedom of going without. As the hand settled, hot and clammy, against the skin of her midriff and began to slide upwards, Colleen moaned.
Whether her assailant deliberately chose to misinterpret the sound of disgust as one of pleasure, she didn’t know, but an answering moan came from behind her and the grinding against her backside resumed. Faster and harder. Feverish.
From somewhere above her came a noise; a once familiar, but now rare, noise. It was too loud to miss, but it barely registered, so focused were Colleen’s senses on the knife against her cheek and the hand moving towards her breasts.
Clint must, too, have heard the noise; it was growing louder by the second. He, too, chose to ignore it; or was so caught up in the heat of desire that he paid it no heed.
As the hand circled her left breast and her flesh recoiled, a glimmer of an idea popped into her mind. Colleen moaned again, a low, sensuous sound that portrayed the opposite sensations to those she was actually feeling.
Faster and harder came the movements against Colleen’s buttocks. Louder and shorter came the hot breaths against the side of her head. Tighter and more urgent came the kneading of her breast. She bit her lip to prevent uttering a cry of pain and breaking Clint’s concentration.
The noise from above drew closer. A dark shape moved into sight, emerging from the down ramp. Bright, white light shone forth, banishing shadows to the farthest corners. Colleen scrunched up her eyes against the glare.
She heard a gasp and the pressure of the blade against her cheek lifted. The grinding motion against her back ceased and the hateful hand’s grip on her breast eased.
Still with eyes closed, Colleen stepped smartly forward, using her hands to shove away Clint’s arms, unknowing and uncaring of where the switchblade was being waved. If it was still near her face, she evaded it.
Pivoting on the ball of her left foot, Colleen about-turned and opened her eyes. Mustering all the force of which she was capable, she kicked out her right leg. At the same time, she yelled:
“Up yours, Dermot!”
Her knee jolted with the impact and a bolt of pain shot up her leg to her thigh. She couldn’t remember pain so satisfying.
With a shriek, Clint brought both hands down to clutch at his groin. The knife clattered to the floor. Colleen had time to notice his stockinged feet before he collapsed in slow motion to his knees. His face, all the more pasty in the harsh light, contorted in anguish. He bowed his head, lank locks of hair falling forward like strands of a greasy mop.
“Colleen! Are you okay?” came Howard’s voice from behind her, raised to be heard over the rumbling engine.
She turned, shielding her eyes against the glare of the headlights, and walked to the side of the car. Howard’s anxious face peered through the open window.
“Took your time,” she said.
“I couldn’t find the car. By the time I did, I could hear voices from below so I guessed he’d found you. I struggled to push the car and steer it on my own. I’m sorry. . . .”
Howard looked so wretched that any anger Colleen felt towards him for deserting her melted away.
“No harm done. Greasy bastard had his hands all over me and was about to get his rocks off when you rudely interrupted him.”
Howard glanced past her. His eyes widened.
“Get in,” he said. “Quickly.”
Colleen looked back. Clint had raised his head and was glaring at them with hate-filled eyes. He looked in no condition to do anything just yet, but he was clearly beginning to recover.
She wasted no time. Scooting around the back of the car, she opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Let’s go,” she said.
As they passed the kneeling figure, Clint turned his head and watched them. Colleen craned around to see what she hoped would be her last ever view of him. In the reflection of the car’s rear lights his eyes glinted red, like a demon’s.
Howard drove down the ramp to ground level and Colleen breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good old Brian!” she exclaimed, patting the dashboard.
At the foot of the down ramp lay a small bundle. Howard drove over it and they both felt the Stetson hat and cowboy boots crumple beneath the tyres. They glanced at each other and smiled.
An hour or so later, they were pulling up at Dun Laoghaire marina.
“Next stop, Great Britain,” said Howard.
“One thing,” said Colleen. “I’ll risk my life by crossing the sea with you, but I must have a shower.”
“There’s one on board. Basic but it will do the job.”
“Good. I have to wash all trace of him off me.”
* * * * *
They paused only long enough to collect together a few essentials and load them into the Range Rover. These included Dusty’s basket, the two shotguns and the boxes of shells.
Diane climbed into the front passenger seat. Ceri and Dusty jumped into the back. Before Tom joined them, he looked at Peter who was about to step into the vehicle.
“Tell me, Peter,�
� he said in a low voice that would not carry inside the car. “If you were prepared to wipe out those sailors with the Millennium Bug had they tried to stop the Beacon being activated, what are you planning on doing to me and Ceri?”
“You’re missing the point, Tom. The sub possesses the means to destroy the Beacon before it’s activated. You and Ceri do not. You’re perfectly safe. At least from me.”
Peter ducked into the vehicle. Tom stared after him for a moment before following.
He smiled at Ceri. Her smile in return was forced and she quickly looked away. She spent the journey to Wick scanning the coastline and countryside, straining for any glimpse of Bri and Will.
Peter drove towards the southern coastal road and Tom leaned forward.
“Tell us how this Beacon works.”
Peter sighed. “It won’t do you any good.”
“Nevertheless.”
In the rearview mirror Tom could see Peter’s brow wrinkle into a frown. It was Diane who spoke.
“Sixty-three bluestones arranged in a circle,” she said in a monotone. “Sixty-two people standing in the gaps between them. By holding both arms outstretched, they touch the stones to either side, thus completing the circle. The Keeper stands in the centre of the circle and directs the pulse of energy towards Earth Home. There will be a short window of twenty minutes at around five o’clock in the morning when Earth Haven and Earth Home are sufficiently aligned to be sure our people will detect the signal.”
“Does it need to be a clear night?”
“No. If it is, the Keeper can confirm alignment by checking the positions of the stars. If not, she will trust that the calculations are accurate.”
“These stones, these bluestones, were transported almost two hundred miles from West Wales. What’s so special about them?”
This time Peter answered. “They possess certain properties, like magnetism and acoustics. They are thought to have magical healing powers.” Peter shrugged. “That might be a rumour put about by that rogue Myrddin.” Diane grunted and Peter glanced at her. “You knew him?”