Safe Haven, page 21
Mike laughed through his tears. "Thanks, Jules."
"Why don't we all just slip away now? Get on the boats and go?" she whispered.
"One, they've got Beth and Jack. Two, a few might slip away unnoticed, but there is no way these guys don't want revenge for what happened in Inverness. But if it's blood they want, I'll give them blood, Jules."
"I know you will." She kissed him again and stood up. "Be careful out there. Bring our people back." She helped him to his feet and they embraced.
"Should I be concerned?" asked Lucy, smiling as she walked across to the two of them.
"Absolutely," replied Jules. "There isn't a second that goes by that this pug-ugly lunk doesn't concern the hell out of me." She let out a little chuckle. "Look after each other," she said to Lucy, who put her arms around Jules.
"We will, sweetie."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Barnes brought the Land Rover to a slow stop and Humphrey stuck his nose out into the fresh night air. There was a tied rubble sack in the back of the vehicle that was causing the dog no end of upset, but there was no room for him in the other vehicle. The mangonel was secured to the trailer, and was pivotal to their whole rescue plan. Mike got out, as the Ford Fiesta carrying Lucy, Emma, Hughes, and George pulled up behind them.
"Okay, this is as far as we can go by car until we take the lookout point down," he said to the others. Hughes climbed out of the Fiesta and the pair walked to the side of the road.
"You okay, Mikey?" asked Hughes as they fell out of earshot.
"Listen, if we haven't signalled within the hour, abort. Get the hell back home as quick as you can. It's about ten miles from the east ridge to Dead Man's pass. They won't know where the shortcuts are to get around the roadblocks, so that will give you enough time to prepare."
"You listen. Fuck this shit! You're going to retake the ridge, we're going to get Beth and Jack, and we're all heading back home together," replied Hughes. Mike nodded and the pair hugged.
***
Mike and Barnes stayed low as they ran across the narrow shale ridge. All their plans hinged on getting this right, so every time a stray piece of rock cascaded down the steep incline on either side, their hearts jumped up into their mouths. The moon gave them just enough light. The path was dangerous on a clear day, hundreds of feet up, but, there was too much at risk for them to even think about failure. They were two hundred metres across the ridge when Barnes signalled for Mike to stop and crouch down. The soldier took his SA80 and peered down the scope towards the small flickering flames at the lookout camp where Beth had been stationed. As a sniper in Afghanistan, Barnes had been adept at evaluating situations, even in relative darkness without night vision equipment. So, a campfire and half decent starlight made things easy.
"Fuck, I count four of them," Barnes whispered. "About a hundred and fifty metres to go," he said, looking back towards his companion. "Y'know we can't have gunfire, Mike? But we need to take them out quick. Any thoughts?"
"Thoughts only get in the way, Barnes. Let's get our Beth back," he said pulling out the two machetes from his rucksack, edging past his friend and starting to sprint full pelt in the direction of the camp.
"Fuck!" Barnes said, shouldering his SA80 and pulling his hunting knife from its holster.
Mike burst through the thicket and hurled himself towards two men who had their backs to him. Before they could even respond to the looks of shock that appeared on their friends’ faces, the crack of their skulls as two heavy blades entered their brains, echoed around the small opening. As the two men on the other side of the fire began to reach for their weapons, a knife flew through the air, its blade reflecting hellish orange flames before slicing into the stomach of one.
"Don't even think about it," said Barnes, already pointing his side arm at the last remaining guard.
Mike grabbed the survivor by the hair, dragged him the few feet to the campfire and plunged one side of his face into the flames. His howl was inhuman, and even Barnes was disbelieving. Mike threw the man onto his back, while the now weeping figure tried to extinguish the flames burning his hair and scalp. Mike pushed his boot down on the guard's neck, pinning him as he gasped for air. Mike's eyes glistened red in the glow. "Make no mistake, you die tonight. It's just a matter of how much you want to suffer first," he almost spat the words.
The guard was Mike's age, give or take. Tears were streaming down half his burnt blistered face. When he spoke, it was barely intelligible at first, but then Mike released a little pressure. The figure looked towards Barnes to see if there were two of Hell's demons visiting him this night, but Barnes just looked away. Horror, revulsion, guilt, all playing on his emotions, but none could compare to his deep need to see Beth again.
After just a few minutes, Mike put the retched creature out of his misery once and for all with a machete chop cutting through his skull. He pulled the flare gun from his rucksack, walked to the edge of the ridge and fired, not up, but straight, making sure, his people were the only ones who would see the signal. Within a minute, two lots of vehicle headlights came into view winding on the twisty mountain road.
"I hope he was telling the truth," said Barnes, still shocked at the brutality of Mike's interrogation.
"He was," replied Mike. "C'mon Barnes, we've got a lot to do."
Barnes nodded, then something caught his eye. "Jesus, Mike, wait a minute," he said shining the torch beam onto some equipment that was just out of the arc of light created by the small campfire.
"What is it?"
"Bloody Hell, Mike," He said, reaching down and picking up four pairs of night vision goggles. He flung them to Mike, before reaching down again and grabbing a heavy, long rifle.
"What's that?" asked Mike.
"This mate, is an L115A3. Standard issue for snipers. He pointed it into the distance, and peered down the view finder. And it only bloody comes with a night vision scope. And three boxes of ammo. I tell you...Christmas." Barnes looked around at the bodies. "These guys were either military, conscripts, or they found a good cache somewhere. I suppose it's about time we had some luck," said Barnes, placing the strap of the heavy gun on his other shoulder and putting the boxes of bullets in his pockets.
"We make our own luck, Barnes," said Mike before beginning the steep descent to the road and approaching vehicles.
***
Fry drained his glass and refilled it before putting another fat cigar in his mouth. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and lit it, blowing the smoke in Beth's face. She coughed and spluttered, nearly gagging at the foul smelling mixture of fumes. Fry took a step back and looked at her, his eyes leery and menacing. She gulped and turned away, but Fry grabbed her chin, pulled it to face him and slapped her hard, making her yelp and start sobbing once again.
"You never turn away from me," he said, slapping her a second time. "Y'fucking bitch. No heroes to save you now." He grinned and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was madness in his eyes. This really was the end for her. Tied up like an abused animal. Even if she told him everything he wanted to know, she knew that he was going to make her pay for what happened in Candleton. So... she would tell him nothing. She would protect Barnes, she would protect her friends, no matter what he did. As if sensing her thoughts, he unleashed another vicious slap causing her cheek to turn bright red.
"Now," he said, beginning to pace up and down like a lawyer in court. "How many of you are left?" Beth said nothing, she just cast her eyes to the floor. He stopped pacing, walked across to her and pressed the end of his cigar against the bare skin of her belly. Beth screamed and started crying once more. "Answer my questions and this all stops," said Fry moving his face close to hers.
"Fuck you," whispered Beth through her tears.
"What did you say?" demanded Fry, pulling back from her.
"I said, fuck you," she repeated.
Anger turned to a smile on Fry's face, then the smile turned to a laugh, but the laugh suddenly stopped as he heard a sound.
"What?" he said.
Beth was suddenly not the focus of his attention anymore, and she watched in confused horror as he began a conversation with himself.
"She will," he said with irritation in his voice. "She will, and then they'll see." He walked over to the two heads on the mantelpiece. "You'll see," Fry said, directing the conversation to them now. "I'll find out what I need to know from this bitch, and then my army will wipe every last one of them off the face of this earth." He suddenly grabbed the head of The Don by his comb over, "No," it's my army now, he said as if contradicting a taunt. Fry's gaze shot towards the armchair. "No one is fucking laughing at me, Juliet," he spat.
Beth looked on, terrified, as she began to understand the depth of Fry's psychosis. As if he sensed her eyes on him he rushed towards her, putting the cigar back in his mouth, holding the glass in one hand, he wrapped the other around her throat and squeezed. Beth began to turn redder as her windpipe became more constricted.
"It better not be you she's talking about, Beth. You wouldn't be so stupid as to laugh at me, would you darling?" he said, clenching the cigar in his teeth as he spoke. He moved in towards her face, and she could feel the heat of the cigar, but all her efforts were focussed on trying to breathe as she wriggled and writhed in an attempt to free herself from his vice like grip. Her eyes began to lose focus and there was a dripping sound which made him look down to the old fashioned carpet. A wet patch was forming on the floor, and he realised it was coming from Beth, as the fear of her impending death made her lose control of her bladder. He pulled back and began laughing. It empowered him to see how much fear he had put into her. Beth choked and spluttered as she gasped for oxygen. Her sobbing made it harder, but she couldn't control herself. She wanted to put up a front, to show him she was not scared, but she'd just revealed the true depth of her fear to him. He owned her now. This was only going to get worse.
***
George had taken all the bulbs out of the rear lighting panels on the vehicles. All they would do is alert the enemy to their whereabouts. The two cars pulled up on the dark road and preparations began. They could see the lights and small fires around the camp, it was a few hundred metres away, but it stood out against the surrounding blackness.
The four men wheeled the mangonel off the trailer. It wasn't an easy job at the best of times, but in darkness it took more effort than anyone wanted. George stood back while the others positioned it to his requirements, then they retrieved the two bins full of the balls with nails through them that Mike had commissioned George to manufacture. Mike lifted out the tied rubble sack and when he undid the tie, the stench of foulness exploded into the night air making everyone gag.
"There are gloves and masks," he said talking to everybody. "We mix this stuff in with those," he said signalling for the offal to be combined with the balls. "Be very, very careful not to get scratched. I brought a couple of shovels. There's a baseball bat in the back of the Land Rover. Use that to swirl the stuff around."
"I don't understand," said George.
The others knew. They had done something similar in Candleton, this was just the medieval version.
"It's simple George," replied Mike, "We fire these at them; the nails break their skin, they get infected, they turn, they start attacking their former pals."
"Oh my God! Tell me you're not serious. You're talking about deliberately turning people into those things? It's inhuman! It's monstrous! I won't do it," said George, starting to fish in his pockets for the car keys.
Mike took a pace towards him. "So let me get this straight. These men are going to torture, rape, and kill our friends, our families. And I'm the fucking monster?"
"It's unholy what you're talking about doing, Mike," replied George.
"Unholy?" Mike said, raising his voice. Lucy and Emma immediately stepped towards him as he moved further towards George.
"Oh, God," Emma muttered to herself.
Both her and Lucy put their hands on Mike's arms, not restraining, just reassuring.
"George, listen to me," began Lucy. "We did something similar to this when we got ambushed by these men in Candleton. These are bad people. What they do to women...to anybody who gets in their way... it's evil." She took her hand from Mike's arm and stepped between him and George. "We are vastly outnumbered and outgunned, and they've got two of us in there, two of our people. God only knows what they're doing to them, but they're our people. We do whatever—and I mean whatever—it takes to protect them. I'm sorry, this is the way it is. I'm sorry we have to do these things. But we do have to do these things, George." She couldn't see facial expressions in the light, but she could feel the tension ease.
"I... I..," began George.
Lucy reached out, hearing the sadness in his voice as he came to terms with what he had to do. She put her hand on his arm and spoke softly. "None of us are the people we once were. The world dying kinda changes that. We can still be the same people to family and friends, but to the rest of the world, we're someone else. We do whatever it takes to protect our own." She felt his hand reach for hers. "They've got our people, George. We need to get them back."
George released her hand and without saying a word began to shovel the spiked ammunition into the mangonel. The bucket was a quarter full when he put on a face mask, goggles and gloves, and lifted one of the thick rubble sacks pouring out a bloody, sloppy mixture of organs and entrails. He gagged despite the mask. He used the baseball bat to mix the deadly tissue with the ammunition, before adding more and repeating the process.
"Well done, Luce," said Mike as the two of them stole a moment away from the rest of the group.
"I love you, Mikey, but pummelling somebody until they do what you say isn't always the best way," she said. He couldn't see her face, but he could hear a smile in her voice, before it disappeared just as quickly. "Be careful," she said, putting her arms around him and squeezing him tight.
"I'll be fine, you need to be careful. They might have a couple of guards kicking around, but they won't be expecting an attack. When it all kicks off, they're going to figure out pretty quickly where the attack came from, though. Remember the plan," he said to her and kissed her on the lips. "I love you Luce."
How many times had they parted like this? How many times could their goodbyes have been their last? "I love you too."
"Remember, don't let Barnes off the leash. With that sniper rifle, he's more vital than ever."
"I don't really think I can stop him if he wants to change the plan."
"Give him a speech about family and shit, that'll work," he said. This time, she could hear the smile in his voice.
"Wise-ass."
***
Mike kept Humphrey on a long lead as they ran low across the field. There were at least two chest high dry walls in between them and the farm encampment, but they didn't want to take any risks. Hughes followed the two of them. He had traded his heavy SA80 for a Glock 17 and he was just managing to keep up. The three of them ran in an arc, circumnavigating the camp by a few hundred metres and ending up far from any roads, at the rear of the farmhouse. From their position, they could see the lights of the house. There were no growls from Humphrey, there was no danger of any RAMs out here. Not yet.
"Okay," said Hughes, "We need to slow down a bit," he said, trying to catch his breath. "Slow and steady Mikey, until we're there."
The three of them moved off again, Hughes kept raising his night vision goggles as the glare of the house lights dazzled him.
Mike reeled the lead in further and further as they got closer to the house. There was a smell of smoke in the air as campfires burned at the front of the farmhouse, where over thirteen hundred men, all but for a handful of guards were beginning to bed down for the night. There was a waist high wall enclosing the garden, nothing like the things, Mike and Hughes had lifted Humphrey over. Mike straddled it, Humphrey jumped on top and down in a fluid movement, and Hughes clambered over it, scraping his belly.
There was a post for a washing line and Mike wrapped the lead around it. He crouched down, kissed Humphrey on the head, who reciprocated with a sloppy lick of his friend's face. Mike smiled.
"Stay boy," he said and the dog sat down.
Mike and Hughes crouched down, working their way along the windows. Then they saw one partially illuminated. It was the kitchen. It was dim inside, but light was travelling from another room. The pair had to do a double take as they looked in, realising Fry had Beth strung up by the arms in between the doorway to the kitchen and living room.
***
Fry hurled The Don's head across the room like it was a football. It made a splat against the wall, leaving a gory mark as it fell to the carpet. "I'm sick of you all laughing at me," he said, striding to where Lorelei's head perched. He forced his index and middle fingers into her eyes, pushing them into the sockets and forced his thumb into her mouth like her head was a macabre bowling ball. He flung it at the panelled glass door separating the living room from the hall, and one of the panes of glass smashed before the once pretty head hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Fry lurched towards the armchair and gripped the rests, pinning his imaginary audience down. "And I'm telling you now, I've had enough from you, my girl. Unless you want to end up like them, you'd better just stop it with your smart little comments." Beth began to cry again, which enraged Fry further. "Y'see what you've made me do? Y'fucking whore," he yelled and punched her in the stomach, making her whine and howl with pain once more. He closed his fist around her hair. She grimaced as she felt his nails dig into her scalp. She clenched her eyes shut as he brought his face up to hers. She could smell the tobacco and the whiskey. She wanted to vomit. He moved his face closer. "Well, no point letting a good whore go to waste, I might just give you one last hurrah before I put you out of your misery," he said beginning to move his finger around the elastic of her panties.
