The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (29 page)

Sister Mel still had her arm round Stella’s shoulders and squeezed her tighter in a show of solidarity. Mila clambered in and slammed the rear passenger door closed, keeping the gun resting on the open window over the heads of the group. Riley started the engine, which coughed and spluttered into life, its exhaust rattling, wheezing a little before finding its rhythm. “Perhaps one of you would be good enough to get that truck out of the way,” shouted Riley over the noise of the engine.

The guard hurried inside to find the keys to the truck hanging on a hook behind the front desk. As she walked down the driveway, the Land Rover kept pace, rolling a few yards behind her, back towards the front gate, two pillars with ornamental lions mounted either side.

She clambered up in to the cab and with a plume of diesel smoke from its roof mounted exhaust, the truck roared into life. Inside they could see the guard fighting with the gear stick to get the lumbering beast into reverse, before lurching slowly backwards. She revved the engine impatiently, allowing just enough space for them to drive out and on to the main road beyond, before rolling back into place.

Just before the gap closed behind them, in the rear view mirror, Riley glimpsed Stella’s lone arm raised in farewell, and then she was gone. Riley had a bad feeling it wasn’t the last time they would tangle with the Sisterhood.

Chapter fifty-three

It was only five miles to Hurst from the hotel, but the roads were virtually impassable, clogged with abandoned cars. The traffic backed up all the way from the roundabout on the edge of town along the coastal road they were attempting to navigate. They had no choice but to detour round obstacles, onto pavements, grass verges, through people’s front gardens, even smash through a garden fence. One time they managed to hook a children’s climbing frame, wrapping the ladder round their front grill and had to stop to dislodge it from jamming in the front wheel arch. They used any means they could to pass the blockages that littered the roadway.

In a couple of places, they had to nudge other vehicles out of the way, or get out and push them by hand. Riley was growing desensitized to the sight of death. It was all around them. She thought nothing of pulling corpses from vehicles, of wrenching victim’s hands that still gripped steering wheels or heads resting against dashboards. She was no longer squeamish, or was it just fatigue. She reached over a body to release the hand brake and steer a two-seater sports car out of their way, as someone pushed from behind.

After a couple of hours they caught their first glimpse of the sea. Milford beach stretched out to the east of them with the Needles rocks and island beyond.

Riley was still troubled by what Stella’s friend had told her. She had been very clear. She had seen smoke rising from Hurst castle. However unlikely, that’s what she said. Why would she lie?

Visible from that distance, it had to be more than just a campfire or burning rubbish. It sounded like a proper fire that had got completely out of control. She imagined the widespread panic, the plans and preparations they had made for exactly this eventuality. The buckets of sand they had carefully placed around the camp. They had stored fire hoses in the lighthouse for pumping water from the dock back into the castle. They were as prepared and they could be, so she was still wondering how a fire could have taken hold. Just thinking about fires, brought back memories of the previous night, putting her life on the line to save Zed. The pain in her hand was a living link. She cradled her left wrist, still bandaged, pinching the dressing to relieve the pressure on the watery blisters that were painful to the touch.

They drove on through Milford village, each of them fearing the worst. Mila leaned forward in her seat, anticipation growing as they drew closer to home, her imagination running riot, giving voice to her fears. As they reached the end of the road and the last of the buildings at the far edge of town, they screeched to a halt.

Ahead of them was a dirt track that hugged the start of the raised man-made sea defences and shingle spit. To their left was what remained of a caravan park. Half flooded and storm damaged. Ploughed fields lay beyond. In the corner of the field, sitting next to a broken wooden fence, a yellow tractor stood idle beneath a cluster of trees, abandoned.

Riley engaged first gear and they continued on the last leg of their journey along the dirt track.

There it was in the distance. Across the estuary and tidal waters, the castle was at least still standing. There was little sign of smoke now, everything looked fairly normal from this distance. Riley picked up the pace, pumping the accelerator and bumping over the many potholes, deep groves and dips, where the dirt track was waterlogged or had disintegrated altogether.

They reached the end of the track and ascended the steep incline in low gear, slipping and sliding until they crested the top of the shingle and the vehicle levelled out again. The view was spectacular, looking out over Christchurch Bay, the island dazzling in the morning sun.

Riley braked hard and scattered stones in front of the car. She could barely believe her eyes. She reached across Zed and fumbled in the glove compartment for the binoculars. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust and find what she was looking for. In the distance, far out to sea was a ship. It was definitely military, a navy frigate or destroyer, she couldn’t tell from this distance.

“What is it Riley?” said Zed, peering into the distance, following the line of her binoculars at the grey shape on the horizon.

“Got to be military. Definitely not a steamer or container ship,” confirmed Riley.

“Is it one of ours?” asked Mila.

“Hard to tell from this distance. It’s not big enough to be a cruise ship or container vessel, so probably a frigate or destroyer. And definitely heading this way.”

Riley handed the binoculars to Zed. She shifted the Land Rover back into gear and accelerated hard, showering the underside of the car with pebbles and loose shingle. There was now an added urgency to get where they were going.

Zed panned the binoculars towards Hurst and pointed out that there was no look out on the castle walls. That was unusual. Riley made a mental note to have strong words with whoever was on guard duty that morning. Where was everyone?

The whole place looked deserted. The closer they got, the more worried they became that something terrible had happened in their absence. Riley cursed herself for being away too long.

Rounding the western edge of the fortifications, they headed down the short slope going too fast. Riley jammed on the brakes and the car slid to a halt outside the main entrance to the castle. All four doors flew open as the group emerged alert and ready. In front of them was the blast hole in the drawbridge. They could see wisps of smoke caressing the leading edge of the stone walls, before being dissipated on the morning breeze.

To the right of the entrance, high up on the old grey stone walls, mottled with black lichen, someone had spray-painted a tag in blood-red graffiti. Stylized letters a meter high spelled the word: ‘Hurts’.

Mila had her hand over her mouth, slowly taking in the scorch marks from the explosion at the front entrance and trying to make sense of the graffiti. “Who would have done this?”

Adele spelt out the letters aloud, one by one. “What does it mean, Zed?”

“It means someone has a sick sense of humour.”

Riley opened the tailgate and unloaded their weapons. She slid a pistol into her belt and rammed two shells into each barrel of the cocked shotgun.

“Zed, you don’t think that the guys from the hospital had anything to do with this?”

“It’s possible they came looking for us. I don’t know.” He stood scratching his beard, angling his head to the side.

“Don’t take any chances, Riley.” He sniffed. “They could still be here. Mila and Riley, you two head inside and see what you can find out. Adele, you and me stay here and keep an eye on the car. Be careful yeah?”

Riley clambered through the blast hole and tiptoed through the covered entrance, staying close to the wall, making no sound. It was eerily quiet inside. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Mila was right behind her. Very slowly, they both peered round the corner to take a look at what lay beyond.

Inside, bodies littered the courtyard. Mila gasped, her eyes flicking from one body to the next, before recognizing one of the faces furthest from her: “Oh no, please.”

Riley heard voices close-by and froze, gesturing Mila back against the wall, weapons raised trembling in front of them.

She listened carefully, straining to hear. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath recognising Tommy’s voice. She called out to him, warning the defenders that they were coming out and not to shoot. Nathan and Liz hurried out to meet them.

“My God, where have you all been? We thought you were dead. We could have really done with you being here last night,” said Nathan, wide-eyed in disbelief.

“What the hell happened here?” asked Riley.

“We were attacked by a heavily armed group.”

“How? How did they get in? What about the guards?” Riley had a dozen questions queuing up in her head.

“They used climbing gear to get over the walls and got inside while the whole camp was sleeping. There was another group waiting outside. There were too many of them. We mounted a last stand at the Gun Tower. It was bad Riley. We have many dead and wounded. It was a bloodbath for the guys out here in the west wing.”

Liz took over, explaining in detail what had happened and helped Zed through to the guardhouse to sit down. He was still a little unsteady on his feet.

Tommy bent down on one knee and shook Adele’s hand, welcoming her to Hurst. She looked back at him a little bashfully and cringed as he ruffled her hair. She shot a grumpy glance towards Riley as if to say ‘Who is this guy, I’m not a kid you know?’

***

Inside the main building, Scottie was tending to one of the injured, a tall man wearing a dark Barbour jacket, who had taken a blow to his head. Liz had bandaged his scalp and forehead so that only his eyes and lower half of his face were visible.

It was a man he didn’t recognize. He seemed to be suffering from concussion. They had him propped up against the wall and had given him a hot cup of tea to hold. He was non-responsive, almost dejected. There was an air of melancholy about him. In truth, no one was quite sure how he’d got there at all. He was unarmed and had nothing identifiable in his pockets. And yet, there was something familiar about him, but Scottie couldn’t quite place it. Something about his voice when he had asked for something to drink.

Scottie helped him up and took him through to the makeshift triage area where more than a dozen injured were in beds and on mattresses on the floor. One of Copper’s men was tied to a bed, a bullet still lodged in his abdomen, oozing blood when he breathed. They didn’t hold much hope for him but Greta had insisted that whatever he had or hadn’t done, it didn’t make any difference. The people of Hurst were not barbarians. They would administer what medical care they could offer and make the wounded comfortable.

As they led through the injured man with the bandaged head, Copper’s man rolled his head, his gaze followed Scottie and the new arrival walk through the door. He looked puzzled and tried to mouth something, but no words came out. Unnoticed, he extended a single finger pointing towards the man, his eyes flickering as he lost consciousness again.

Scottie sat the wounded man down and gently cradled his head back on to a grey pillow, unlacing his boots and heaving his legs up on to the bed. Scottie noticed the man’s pupils were dilated, his vision cloudy. He was struggling to maintain focus as Scottie moved his finger back and forward in front of his eyes.

“What’s your name?” said Scottie softly, leaning over.

There was no response, so he tried again. “Can you tell me your name?”

The man blinked back at Scottie and whispered: “Damian. My name’s Damian King.”

“Can you tell me what happened? I haven’t seen you before, where did you come from?”

There was another pause as the wounded man tried to make sense of the question. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember. I don’t know how I got here. Where am I?”

“You’re at Hurst,” said Scottie. “You’re safe. But you’ve had a blow to your head. You need to rest up, ok?”

Nathan bustled through, an air of tired urgency about him. He called Scottie and Liz over, inquiring after the injured, how many there were, their various injuries and chances of survival. He looked nervously back over their shoulders at some of the worst of them, who were unlikely to make it. Tommy spotted the man Scottie had brought through and did a double take.

Looking closer at the man with the bandaged head, there was a flicker of intelligence in his eyes, something he recognized. The more he looked, the more he thought he knew the man. Of course, he had never seen his face in the light, only glimpses in torchlight and shadows in the courtyard. It seemed implausible, but impossible to deny. Wasn’t this the person who had led the attack against Hurst? Why on earth was he still here, why would his men leave him behind?

“Scottie, do you have any idea who that man is?” asked Tommy.

“No idea, never seen him before. Do you know him?”

“You could say that. Look again. That’s the guy. The guy who led the attack on Hurst. This is their leader. What the hell is he doing here?”