Safe Haven, page 22
Beth started screaming, which gave Fry great satisfaction. He began to laugh as the look of panic etched itself on her face.
Fry stopped. The black night beyond Beth's shoulders and the kitchen window suddenly had a tinge of green. He barged past his captive and into the other room. Walking to the window, he looked up to see a green flare lighting the night's sky. His laughing stopped, confusion reigned on his face. This intensified when he heard pops, thuds and screams erupting from the camp at the front of the house. He stormed back through, pushing Beth out of the way, and went straight outside to see for himself what was going on.
The confusion intensified as small objects rained down on the camp. Some bounced, some stuck in mud, some ripped through tents and smashed vehicle windows, and some lodged in bodies, shoulder blades, backs, stomachs, legs.
"What the fuck?" said Fry, rushing to his vehicle. He opened the door and grabbed the radio. "TJ!" he yelled, anger consuming him.
A few seconds passed. "This is TJ, what is it?" he asked, hearing the venom in his voice.
"Attack! Attack now!"
"Okay, Fry," came the sombre response.
Fry put the radio back in its cradle and was about to shout the same command out to his troops, when one of the falling objects cracked his windscreen, piercing the glass and sticking. He pulled it out. "A fucking tennis ball with nails through it? What's this fucking shit it's covered in?" He brought it up to his nose, but pulled it back just as fast. Then he heard it; that familiar sound, the guttural growl of a RAM. He looked up to see one of his men, only it wasn't one of his men any more, leaping on another and tearing a chunk out of his face. He turned and saw another RAM attacking someone else, then everything fell into place. What he held in his hand was a biological weapon. He heard more screams, then even more as the attacks multiplied.
"Get into your vehicles, we're moving out," he yelled at the top of his voice. Some men heard what he said and dived into the nearest thing with four wheels. But many were fighting off attacks or running into the night. Fry marched back into the house.
"We're going to have to cut this short," he said bursting into the living room, "Your fucking friends have..."
His mouth dropped open as his eyes fell on Mike. "You?" he said, remembering back to the hotel in Candleton; the bluff that was played on him, losing him the battle, starting all his problems. "You!" disbelief turned to rage as the same thing was happening again.
"You like torturing girls, do you? You piece of shit." Spat Mike.
Fry was a lot bigger than Mike in height and girth, but this was a fight that the younger man wanted. The big man ran towards him, roaring like a rabid animal. Mike unleashed a powerful blow to his gut, winding him and making his eyes flare with even more hatred. As Fry doubled over, Mike grabbed the bigger man's ginger hair and pulled his face down hard, while bringing his own knee up even harder. The crack echoed around the living room and Fry fell back, his face, awash with blood as his flattened nose oozed and pulsed red. Without pause, Mike leapt on top of him, straddling his dazed body, and pounded his fist into the bloody mess that was Fry's face, time after time after time. Mike would have continued all night, but then one of his own missiles smashed the living room window, causing him to pause and look up. Fry took advantage of the distraction and laid a punch on Mike's chin, knocking him off balance. The mad man's power was immense and even dazed and battered, he could deliver dangerous blows. Mike started to pick himself up, suddenly noticing the heads of The Don and Lorelei on the floor. His confusion cost him another strike, as he felt a small side table crash over his back and head making him collapse to the floor once again. He took a breath and started to rise, but then a boot smashed into his ribs, once, twice, three times. He felt one crack, maybe two. The assault was becoming more vicious by the second as Mike realised he had underestimated the agility and speed of his opponent. He felt himself being lifted up and before he could scramble to his feet, he was thrown, head first, into the wall. He felt the top of his head dent the plasterboard. He started getting up again, only to have his legs kicked from under him and something hard batter his back, repeatedly. In between hits, he rolled onto his side to see Fry had a thick table leg that he was using like a caveman. He brought it down with a heavy blow and Mike felt another rib crack. He growled with pain much to Fry's satisfaction, who backed it up with another good kick.
Fry's face was covered in blood from his splattered nose. It dyed his ginger and grey beard red and the blood dripped over his lips and stained teeth as he broke into a smile. He looked towards the armchair, "See who's laughing now, mummy?" he shouted and began to cackle.
Although Mike was in pain, the furrowing of his brow had nothing to do with that right now. When he had freed Beth and she had said, "he's insane," he didn't realise she meant literally. Mike used his feet to push himself to the wall and slowly, shimmied up.
Fry broke his gaze away from the armchair and set his eyes back on Mike. "Right y'little fucker," he said, waving the table leg in one hand and pulling a hunting knife from his belt with the other. "Time I had me a little carve up," he laughed, as he stormed towards his foe.
Mike cursed his own stupidity. He had left his gun in the other room deliberately. He wanted to exact his pound of flesh from this monster by hand and he thought he had the strength to do it, but this guy was like a rhino. Fry was almost on him when Mike pushed back against the wall, and kicked out with the flat of his foot, sending his assailant toppling backwards with his arms flailing. All hell was breaking loose outside, but that was nothing compared to the hell Mike felt he was in at that moment. He was in pain all over his body. His ribs were in agony and his breathing wasn't great as a result. Fry was not only mad, but seemed unstoppable. What Mike had done to him earlier would have put out ninety-nine point nine percent of men, but this freak just laughed it off. It was as if he liked the taste of his own blood.
Fry scrambled to his feet and made a beeline towards Mike again, who this time, swung a hammer punch at Fry, dazing him for an instant. Mike pulled his own knife from his belt and the two began to edge towards each other again. Who would strike first?
Fry lurched towards Mike with the knife outstretched. Despite the painful movement, Mike jumped to one side, dodging the blade, but Fry played it to his advantage and swiped with the heavy table leg. Mike toppled backwards, over the sofa and crashed onto the hard floor sending a jolt of pain throughout his body. His knife spun out of his hand and a raucous laugh erupted from Fry.
"Don't worry, mummy, I'll save you the head," said Fry, looking towards the armchair, as he walked to where Mike was laying. He loomed over him menacingly, staring down from his ugly, bloody face with malevolent eyes. "I've been looking forward to this ever since that fucking hotel," he said breaking out into an ugly grin. "Thought you were clever, didn't you? Thought you'd beaten me. Well do I look beaten now?"
Mike knew, with the pain he was in and his cracked ribs that he was in trouble. He needed a weapon. This bastard had two, and he wasn't afraid to use them. Then he saw it, just a hand's length out of his reach. It was the gruesome, homemade missile that had smashed through the window.
"Well boy. It's been fun, but I've got all your friends to butcher before this night is over. My men are on their way to your place right now, so it's time to say goodb..."
Mike shoved his heel down hard onto the floor and pushed, he slid far enough to get the ball in his hand. He held it carefully, making sure the spikes wouldn't so much as graze him, then threw it with all his strength towards Fry. It lodged in the ample flesh of the Fry's stomach. Looking down, the grin disappeared from his face. He dropped the table leg and grabbed the ball, yanking it from just below his rib cage. No pain registered on his face as chunks of bloody gristle followed the spikes out. He just looked, dumbfounded. He staggered back, one step, then two, as the realisation of what was happening swept over him.
Mike wasted no time and slid away across the floor, before clumsily struggling to his feet. He winced as pain shot through his ribs. The shock on Fry's face turned to anger as he threw the ball back towards Mike with all his power. It missed by a way and went clattering off the wall. "I'm guessing cricket wasn't a big thing where you came from?" said Mike, smiling through his discomfort. "Lucky for me, we live and breathe it in Yorkshire. Now who's laughing, you prick? This is the last lesson you'll ever learn, but it's one you should have learned a long time ago. Never mess with my fucking family."
"Aaarghh," yelled Fry, grasping his wound. He fell to his knees, grimacing in pain as his eyes began to lose focus. Growls began to emanate from the back of his throat and he collapsed to the floor, his body shaking and convulsing.
Mike stepped around him and through to the kitchen. He picked his rucksack off the kitchen work surface and headed out into the enclosed garden. Humphrey was waiting was edgy and straining against the lead as Mike approached him. The dog whined as if showing concern for his battered friend.
"It's alright boy, I'm alright," he said. Just then, the Lab Retriever started barking. Mike turned to see what was once Fry coming out of the kitchen door and hurtling towards them.
"That was quicker than I thought it would be," said Mike as he pulled a machete out of his rucksack and sliced it through Fry's forehead. The creature stopped dead in its tracks and fell to its knees, then onto its face. Mike released the blade, wiped it on the RAM's clothes, replaced it in his rucksack and bent down to untie Humphrey's leash. "C'mon, Humph, our night's not over yet."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Emma was loading the siege machine as George adjusted it ready for the next shot. Barnes was staring down the night scope of his sniper rifle, and Lucy stood on the Land Rover's roof watching the mayhem unfold with a pair of binoculars. The first vehicles screeched away from the freshly made war zone.
"Okay, that's our cue, guys," said Lucy, climbing down.
"Ready?" asked George.
"Ready," replied Emma, backing away from the mangonel.
George pushed down a lever, setting the mechanism in motion and instantly a throng of deadly missiles launched towards the encampment.
"Ok," he said, and the four of them converged on the leaden machine to angle it down the road. George did some more adjustments, while Emma and Lucy emptied the remainder of the first bin into the mangonel's bucket. They opened the back of the Land Rover and lifted the unused bin back inside. The seats had been folded down to create room, and Lucy climbed in with it, and Barnes joined her. Emma dived into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The first vehicles appeared on the road just three hundred metres away. "I'm not ready," shouted George.
"Okay, George, stay calm, I've got this," said Barnes, as he knelt on one knee, bringing the other one up for support. He placed his elbow on his thigh, and brought the sniper rifle night vision scope up to his eye. He remained composed as he got the driver of the first bus in his crosshairs and squeezed the trigger. A boom echoed and a second later, the vehicle veered off the road, and smashed through a fence before going down a small embankment and toppling, coming to rest on its side. The van behind slowed before its engine revved wildly, and it shot forward at break neck speed in order to reach the stationary vehicles before the next shot rang out. The one behind it did the same and, what was now a convoy came speeding towards them.
"I'm ready," said George.
"Then don't piss about," replied Barnes, "Fire for Christ's sake."
George released the lever and a wall of missiles launched towards the oncoming vehicles. He ran round the Land Rover and to the Fiesta, jumping in, he started the engine and drove away. Lucy and Barnes watched as the spikey missiles smashed the windscreens of the first and second vehicles before they punctured tires causing a pileup. One vehicle flipped and within a few seconds was on fire. It wouldn't be long before the growing population of RAMs at the farm became interested in those flames. That part of the plan had gone better than anticipated. Lucy shovelled a few of the spiked tennis balls onto the road as they drove, just in case, by some miracle the odd vehicle managed to get past the wreckage.
They pulled up behind George at the rendezvous point which was just around the corner from where they had launched the attack, but was guarded from view by a thicket of trees.
Now came the hard part—waiting.
A small explosion resonated through the night air, as a petrol tank combusted, somewhere in the pileup. Barnes placed the rifle down and got out of the vehicle. The cool breeze refreshed him, and he rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't allowed himself to think about anything but the mission. Once a soldier, always a soldier, but now, he thought about the reason they had launched the mission.
"She'll be alright," said Lucy, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I hope to God you're right, Lucy," replied Barnes. Emma and George joined them.
The four of them stood in silence looking into the darkness, trying to anticipate where their loved ones would emerge from. With each minute that passed, the tension grew, until they heard the snapping of twigs. Emma and Lucy immediately pulled Glocks from the back of their belts, while George shone a powerful torch towards the noise.
"It's us," called Hughes, "Me and Beth," he said. The Glocks were instantly re-holstered and the four of them ran towards the emerging figures. Beth was being supported by Hughes as she stumbled into the clearing. Barnes immediately grabbed hold of her. In the light of the torch he could see the pain on her face, the cuts and bruises. He could see the dried trails of tears, and he held her gently, but gratefully, not knowing the full extent of her injuries. She burst out crying and Barnes did too. He had her back. Whatever happened from now on, at least he had her back.
Emma and Lucy both hugged Hughes, but then pulled back, looking at him expectantly. "Mike's on his way," he said.
"What do you mean?" asked Emma
"Time was a thing. I couldn't stop him, Emma. He saw that Beth had been tortured, and he got that look in his eyes...I had to get Beth to safety."
She put her head in her hands. "That fucking idiot brother of mine is going to be the death of me, I swear to God," she said, pulling the Glock 17 back out and starting to walk in the direction from where Hughes and Beth had emerged.
Lucy grabbed hold of her arm, "Wait a second," she said, turning to the rest of them. "Head back home, we'll take the 4x4. Be careful."
"Hang on a minute," said Hughes, "I'm coming with you.”
"And me," said Barnes. He kissed Beth; knowing that she was safe again was all he wanted. Mike had saved her, and he'd set out to punish the man who'd hurt her. There was no way he wasn't going to have his back. "George, take her home. Get her to Raj, we'll be there soon enough.
George took Beth's weight and guided her back to the waiting car. All their heads turned as a dog's bark cut through the night. It was followed by rustling and finally Humphrey emerged, pulling Mike behind him. Emma and Lucy both ran towards him. He released the leash and Humphrey went happily bounding up to Hughes and Barnes who made a loving fuss of the dog. As Mike hugged the two women, and as they reciprocated, he let out a grunt of pain. Lucy and Emma both backed away and looked at Mike in the torch light. He had obviously been in a real fight.
"We've got to get home. His men are on the way to the north ridge," he said through laboured breaths.
"Oh, shit," said Lucy. "We won't have a radio signal from here, we need to get past the east ridge, before we'll be able to pick one up"
"Let's go everybody," shouted Hughes as they all climbed into the vehicles and sped away.
It was only a matter of minutes before they managed to get a signal. "Jules, it's Emma, do you read me? Over."
"The signal flare's gone up, Emma. I'm heading to the north road barricade now, over."
"We'll meet you there Jules. I'm sorry, Jack didn't make it, over," said Emma.
There was a pause. "He might be the lucky one," replied Jules. "I'll see you at the barricade, over and out."
"See you soon, good luck, Jules, over and out," replied Emma.
"This night just keeps getting better and better," said Lucy as she put her foot down hard on the accelerator.
Mike took two painkillers with a swig of brandy from the hip flask George had given him. "Don't worry, I've got another good fight in me before I turn in," he said grimacing. "These fuckers really picked the wrong night."
***
TJ didn't want this fight. It wasn't that he thought they couldn't win, he just didn't see an upside. Yes, they would vanquish an enemy once and for all, but they had already taken all they had, so what was the point? What was the point of risking men and equipment for no reward? It was foolhardy, but it wasn't something he could argue. Fry had become less and less approachable as of late. He had confided in TJ less, preferring Juliet to be his confidant and advisor. Bedfellows might be fun, but rarely do they make good generals. TJ had earned his position in this army. He had the respect of the men. They didn't fear him like they did Fry, but he had their loyalty. Well, as much loyalty as you could get from a huge gang of marauding thieves anyway.
When he had given the order to attack, there were no questions. The men all knew what they were doing. They mounted the vehicles and started the engines. The convoy consisted of a variety of adapted vehicles. Buses had panelling welded over the windows with peepholes cut out, big enough for rifles and shotguns to slide through. They were down to just one mortar now the army had split in two, and that was on the back of a Toyota Navara pickup. Once again, metal sidings had been welded into place, making it impossible for anybody at ground level to get a view of the mortar men. They had a dozen bikes for speed, a couple of army jeeps, minibuses and one all-singing, all-dancing Winnebago, which was TJ's mobile command centre. Much to the disappointment of the men, this trip hadn't included an entertainment wagon. All the women had been left under a minimal guard back at Loch Uig. In total, there were thirty-one vehicles in the convoy with just over eleven hundred men. The other part of the army had a few hundred more than that, but negotiating the pass would be a harder task. TJ had the easy part, the coast road. It was a little hilly, but nothing unmanageable. His mission was to sweep down the coast, taking out the small band of survivors who remained, then meet up with Fry.
