Realm of the Raiders Read online

  “This can’t be happening,” said Raj as all strength evaporated from his body. “That is my neighbour’s child, Julia. She’s six years old.”

  The creature headed towards them, its short legs struggling to negotiate the obstacles thrown down before it. Mike put down his knife and crowbar, turned to Lucy and gently pulled the gun away from her hand. This thing had to die, he had to kill it, but a gun seemed a lot less personal than a knife and he wanted as much emotional distance between him and his attacker as possible. The tiny figure’s dress snagged on a table leg. It tried to carry on walking but to no avail. As Mike approached, it stretched out both its hands, and its face grimaced. Mike raised the Glock and aimed it, point blank, at the small grey forehead. He pulled the trigger. The shot’s echo seemed to reverberate for an hour, but it was only a second. He walked back to Lucy and handed the gun to her. He couldn’t bear to look into her eyes.

  Mike picked up his own weapons and headed to the door. Outside, the Jackal 2 had been joined by three foot soldiers. The street looked like a battlefield; the heavy machine guns had torn through the attackers. As each new figure appeared, a round of fire chopped it down like shears cutting through grass. Mike stepped out of the hotel and pushed the doors closed. He walked down the steps and opened the back of the ambulance. Hughes struggled to look up. “What the hell’s going on out there?”

  “Fuck knows. We were attacked by RAMs. They’re still coming, but your lads have got them under control I think. Most of them were villagers. I don’t know how this happened. We’ve got guards on the bridges, and there weren’t any infected in the village, so how the hell did it happen?”

  Hughes let out a grunt as he turned a little to face Mike. “Are all the men accounted for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to make sure all our troops are still in place and we’ve not been breached.” He grunted again as he spoke. “Tell Shaw to get on the radio and get a head count.”

  Mike nodded and grabbed his rucksack. He was about to leave the ambulance when he saw a huge plastic bottle of surgical alcohol. He could feel the drying blood of his victims on his fingers. He quickly cleaned his hands with the alcohol and splashed some on his face before replacing the bottle. He dried off using a piece of gauze then closed the ambulance door.

  *

  Fry slowed down as he approached Elsdon Reservoir. He had announced before the planned invasion that it would be the rally point if things went badly. A number of vehicles were parked. Dozens of his men had dismounted and were smoking and talking among themselves. The atmosphere seemed almost sedate, but as he drove through, men flung their cigarettes to the floor and stood to attention. Every single one of them had been hoping Fry wouldn’t make it back. He was the most twisted, vengeful, unpredictable man any of them had ever come across, and considering the rag-tag assortment of criminals and low-lives they were, that was really saying something. There were bad men, and then there were men who chilled you to the bone, men who wore as a badge of honour the blackness that most keep hidden away in the darkest recesses of their soul. Fry was one such man. He brought the bike to a halt, flicked down the kickstand and dismounted.

  “Who the fuck gave the order to retreat?” he bellowed as he began to walk up and down the convoy. All the men looked down and avoided eye contact. “What’s the matter? You all gone fuckin’ deaf and dumb all of a fuckin’ sudden?” This time he shouted it even louder. “Who gave the order to retreat?” Once again, no-one answered. He pulled a young lad, no older than sixteen, to the front and swiped him across the face with the back of his hand. The boy turned red with anger but dared not retaliate.

  Fry pulled his gun from his belt and pointed it at the boy’s head. “Who?” he said, this time in a normal speaking volume, but with more menace in his eyes than his voice could ever suggest.

  “No-one, sir.” The boy’s voice was croaky and scared.

  “No-one, sir,” Fry repeated mockingly. “Well, if no-one gave the fuckin’ order, why are you all back here?”

  “The RAMs, sir. We were being attacked by the RAMs. We couldn’t fight them and take the village,” the young boy blurted.

  “Ah, so it was a tactical decision. Flee now and fight another day, eh?” Fry asked in his thick Glaswegian accent, looking up and down his band of soldiers.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see,” said Fry, lowering his weapon. “Only, the last time I checked, tactics were something the commanding officers came up with and handed down to the troops.” He paused then yelled, “Not the other fuckin’ way around.” He brought up the gun and squeezed the trigger. The young boy crumpled to the floor, devoid of life. Half a gasp went up before the rest of the men thought better of it. “The next time you think about leaving me in battle with my fuckin’ dick in my hand, you’d better have your affairs in order because I will skull-fuck every last one of you cowardly little fuckers.” He took a furious breath and tucked his gun back into his belt. “Right, get in your vehicles, we’re heading back to base. But don’t get too comfortable, we’re coming back down here tomorrow.”

  The men turned and climbed into the vehicles in silence. Fry went back to his bike, flipped the kickstand and roared away, hoping the cold wind on his face would cool his boiling blood.

  *

  The bed frame that had pinned down Emma and Jenny had finally been removed and they were free of their rubble prison. Lucy had begun dressing their wounds and most of the rescue workers had now adjourned to the dining room to clean up the sideshow of horrors which had unveiled itself in there.

  Mike was sitting on the wall outside the hotel’s entrance. The street resembled a bloody battlefield. Shaw walked down the steps and joined him on the wall. He took out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, put one in his mouth and offered one to Mike, who declined. Shaw lit up. He took a long drag before exhaling what seemed like an endless plume of smoke out of his nostrils. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m out of my depth here, Mike.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. The way you got to work in there rescuing my sister and Jenny... You’re officially on my Top Ten heroes list. And let me tell you, that’s no mean feat. You’re up there with Batman and Jason Gillespie.” He gave a shallow smile, remembering one of his cricketing idols, as he watched two soldiers down the street pull broken bodies to the side of the road.

  Shaw smiled and took another puff on his cigarette. “That’s just the training. I mean, I’m at a loss as to what to do next. Hughes is in no state to be in charge, so the men are looking to me and it’s all so completely fucked. I’ve sent the Jackal off to check everything out, but I can’t make contact with the other Jackal, the south bridge or the second roaming squad I had out there. If they’re all gone, we’re down to eleven men. I tell you Mike, I honestly don’t know what to do next.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked down at the wet tarmac.

  Mike carried on watching the two soldiers clearing the road, but his mind was working on a new problem. “Well, first things first. We’ve probably got a couple of hours of daylight left and nowhere near enough troops to post men all over the village. I think we should get everybody back here. Go door to door, round up anybody who’s still breathing and get them back to the hotel. It’s much easier to guard one place. Then you’ll need to have a chat with your men.” He turned round to look at Shaw. “What you decide with regards to coming to Scotland with us will have a big influence on most people here. Once you’ve decided, we’ll ask the villagers what they want to do. I’m almost certain the raiders will return, though, so the sooner I can get out of here with my family, the better.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Shaw took one last suck on the cigarette then threw it to the ground. Mike stood up, arched his stiff back and took a final look up and down the street at the carnage before heading back into the hotel.

  On re-entering the dining room, Mike noticed that the large doors leading to the lawn area were propped open. At the far end
of the room, Emma and Jenny were still being checked by Lucy while Sammy and Jake sat by their side. A few dusty rescue workers were sitting down, exhausted, quietly sipping bottled water now that the bodies of the dead RAMs had been removed. Mike walked to the open doors. As he approached he heard the crack of rifle fire in the distance. Hopefully there would be some survivors left to come back to the hotel. Humphrey was lying down on the wet grass and Raj and Talikha were digging two large rectangles in the garden. Mike walked up to them and Raj straightened up for a moment’s respite. He wiped his brow. Talikha kept digging.

  “Keith and Jenny were good friends,” said Raj. “We didn’t know her niece very well, but the very least we can do for Jenny is make sure they both have a burial.” Mike noticed two more shovels lying close to Humphrey and picked one up. He began digging a third grave for Samantha. Raj wiped his sweaty hand on the back of his jeans and offered it to Mike. “I am Raj, this is my wife Talikha, or Tali.” Mike gripped his hand firmly and shook.

  “I’m Mike,” he replied.

  Raj let out a small laugh. “You don’t really need an introduction. I think everyone in the village knows you.” The pair returned to their digging and after a few moments, Talikha cleared her throat and subtly nodded at her husband. “Mike,” Raj began, “forgive me, but I overheard you talking to Shaw about heading north to Scotland. I too am of the opinion that this village is now indefensible and I would be very grateful if you would consider allowing Talikha and I to come with you.” Mike smiled to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had met someone so incredibly polite.

  “We’re having a meeting tonight. I’m going to invite everybody to come with us. I’m convinced some people will be a burden and make the journey harder, but in good conscience I can’t leave them to face more raiders. You and Talikha, though, have already proved yourselves.”

  “We have just tried to ease the workload for others, nothing more,” replied Raj humbly.

  “Talikha helped Lucy with the injured, you brought Humphrey in to find my sister, and when the RAMs attacked, Talikha put the safety of others before herself and you came and fought by my side. That’s more than easing the workload, Raj. Honour is a big thing with me, and you two have it in spades. If you came with us, you would be doing me the favour, not the other way round.”

  *

  The moon shone onto Fry’s bare chest as he stood at the window, fastening his belt. Behind him a woman lay sobbing on the bed, clutching sheets over herself like a shield.

  “I swear to fuckin’ Christ if you don’t stop whimpering it will be your daughter I bring in here next time and I’ll throw you into the fuckin’ whore pit so the rest of them can have a crack at you. You’ll know what a rough ride is then, you ungrateful bitch.” Fry’s eyes followed the lane down to the village hall. A few years earlier it had been built with a lottery grant for the community of Sodburgh; now it was a horrifying prison for the women trapped inside. More than a hundred cubicles separated by curtains, each occupied by a woman taken as a spoil of war in one of their many raids. Some of The Don’s soldiers preferred to take a woman for themselves, and indeed, some of The Don’s soldiers were women. They were given laminated cards to wear around their neck, and some were given tattoos. If anybody touched them, it would be death. It may have been hell, but there were still rules to follow. Most of them had been devised by Lorelei, The Don’s daughter, the single biggest thorn in Fry’s side, but as long as The Don was alive, she was untouchable.

  He half turned his head to speak to the woman on the bed. “I’m off to see the boss man. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but make sure you clean this place up before I come back, it’s a fuckin’ disgrace. And clean yourself up. If I wanted some cheap prozzie off the dock, I’d have gone out and found one.” He put on his shirt and tucked it into his combat pants before marching across the room and flinging the door open. A small lantern lit the landing just enough for Fry to see his way across and down the stairs. He put on his boots and slammed the door on his way out. The white cottage juddered with the force. He marched up the lane and to the castle, a tourist attraction not long ago, but now home to The Don, his family and hundreds of guards.

  “Who goes there?” a serious voice demanded as Fry approached.

  “I swear on my mother’s fuckin’ grave, God rest her soul, that if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to gut you and hang you with your own intestines. That’s who goes there, now get out of my fuckin’ way you retarded fuckin’ bowel movement.” Fry swept the soldier aside like he was dusting away an errant piece of fluff. He stormed past him and through the castle courtyard then stomped up the grey stone hallway to the thick arch-shaped door. Clenching his hand into a fist, he smashed the door three times so his knock would be heard over the music from within.

  A heavy latch scraped as it lifted and the door creaked open, revealing a room almost as large as the village hall. A roaring fire breathed warmth into the cold stone surrounds. A replica of a banqueting table from the middle ages stood in the centre of the room. At one end sat The Don with a giggling, adoring young woman on each side of him. He wore a red silk smoking jacket that was far too tight for his girth. What remained of his grey hair was combed over and glued into place by gel. He had a fat cigar in his right hand and was in shouted conversation with a younger man halfway down the table. Fry couldn’t hear what was being said over the music that was blaring away, but the pair were laughing and the conversation appeared to be good humoured. A DJ was operating a mobile disco, lights and all. The power came from a diesel generator positioned on the balcony outside so that the fumes stayed out of the hall. To the uninitiated it looked like a party, but Fry knew this is what it was like every night for The Don.

  On entering, The Don briefly broke off his conversation with the other man and irritably beckoned Fry across. With the movement of his eyes, he commanded the two women to vacate their seats. Fry sat down and looked around the large table. There were a couple of the higher ranking men in The Don’s army plus the younger man who he had been in conversation with. The rest were women, all with ownership tags: eager women, dazzled by music, warmth, booze and powder which was laid out in extravagant lines at the far end of the table.

  “So, Fry,” began The Don, who in recent months had begun to speak like he had been taking elocution lessons all his life rather than being dragged up in the North East. He smiled, revealing nicotine-stained teeth and a deep red tongue from the cheap wine. “That was a colossal fuck up you were responsible for today. How many men? How many fucking vehicles? How much wasted ammunition?”

  Fry sat back, he had been on the other end of The Don’s bollockings before and he knew that the best way to handle them was to let him get everything off his chest, then offer a solution.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Fry,” continued The Don, leaning in so he could be heard over the music, “but the whole point of a raid is that we come out better off than we went in. Or have I got the wrong end of the stick?” He sat back smugly and took a long puff on his cigar.

  Fry was about to answer when a chamber door opened and Lorelei stepped out, wiping some white powder from her nose and dragging a young soldier with dilated pupils behind her. She swaggered up to the table in tight black leather trousers, releasing her pet as she went. She grabbed her father’s drink, took a gulp and wiped her mouth. “Nice fucking raid today, Fry. I bet those villagers are laughing their tits off tonight. What kind of a fucking message do you think that sends out? My dad’s army getting bitch-slapped by a bunch of fucking straw-sucking yokels?”

  “That’s enough, Lorelei, I’m handling this,” barked The Don. Others around the table were sniggering at her outburst, but Fry was quietly fuming. He knew it had been orchestrated, the hot-headed daughter saying exactly what the father had told her to say.

  Lorelei slammed the empty goblet back down and leaned towards Fry, revealing her ample surgically augmented cleavage. She had always been an attractive girl, but as she
still had access to all the cosmetics she needed, she had decided to adopt a Goth look to go with the castle, her brown eyes accentuated by thick eyeliner matching her jet black hair and lips. Most men fawned over her, but Fry despised her with a burning passion. She leaned further in, trying to get Fry to look at her bosom, but he refused to take the bait. She gently moved a curl of ginger hair from his thick red forehead, tilted her head sideways and began to speak in a mocking baby voice. “Maybe it’s time to put Fry out to pasture. Maybe he’s a little too old for this now.”

  Fry jumped to his feet, knocking the sturdy banqueting chair over as if it was made of balsa wood. He brought his finger up to Lorelei’s face and was about to begin a tirade when The Don stepped in.

  “Lorelei, that’s enough,” he bellowed at the top of his voice, “and Fry, sit the fuck down. You and I aren’t done talking yet.”

  Lorelei ran her tongue over her top lip as if she could taste Fry’s anger. She smiled. She had achieved her goal of humiliating Fry to the point of rage. She straightened up, strutted across to the young soldier she had emerged from the bedroom with a few minutes earlier and dragged him up to dance in front of the disco lights. The other men at the table leered as she moved suggestively to the music.

  Fry remained standing, and for a moment he was deaf to everything. Should he act now? Was this the moment to take control? It was going to happen sooner or later, should he just get it over with? Finally his ears opened up again. The Don could see the anger welling within his commander and he decided the punishment was over. He stood up and picked up Fry’s chair, a huge conciliatory gesture; The Don would never do such a thing for anyone else. He took hold of Fry’s shoulder, which was above his own head height and spoke in a gentler voice, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “Fry, sit down.”