Harry Styles and the New York Apocalypse (16 page)

The children in the Stickford enclave enjoyed learning
One Direction
songs from Charlie. It amused them that she knew every single word. Charlie had become their main carer - Ana still spending time with them, but getting more and more involved with Jonathan, and even helping with growing the vegetables. Charlie didn’t mind having the children for most of the time - it was as good a way as any to pass the days.

On the warm afternoons they all went into the absent Ryan family’s swimming pool. There were plenty of ball games to play. During Mr Grainger’s barbecues, the adults loved watching an impromptu softball game. The children owned bicycles, although there were no adult ones, so Charlie took to jogging alongside as they went around the estate, where they came upon other children, but it was thought best not to try to integrate for the time being.

So far, schooling was on hold. There had been discussions about it. The Springsteens and Mr Stickford were, perhaps, hoping for some kind of normality to return, before they had to tackle that issue.

When she got time to herself one afternoon, Charlie made a cup of coffee and wandered over to see how the vegetable patch was coming along. It was a lovely day, temperature-wise, with a nice breeze. She approached Jonathan, laughing at his makeshift straw hat. He smiled warmly at her.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘I look like an Amish person. How are you today, Charlie?’

‘I’m good, Jonathan.’

‘I’m good, too. You know what, I kind of like this lifestyle. There’s no stress with it.’

‘Plus, you’ve got the lovely Ana.’

Jonathan blushed.

‘I’m very happy, Charlie. I’ve been thinking. I think I was born in the wrong time. I should have been born in the 19
th
century, as a farmer. Do you know what I mean?’

Charlie kissed him on the cheek.

‘I know what you mean.’

***

Ivanovic was in two minds; whether to punch Ziegler hard in the face, or pat him on the back. They were standing at the top of the Millers’ staircase, looking through the window down onto the carnival of people on the front lawn, as Danielle excitedly, and with great pride, introduced her brother to everyone - this man, Liam, who had found his sister against all the odds.

What Ivanovic had an issue with was the fact that Ziegler had allowed two armed men to join the group. That he had led them in like a Florence tour guide with his umbrella up in the air. The fact that one of them was Danielle’s brother didn’t detract from the fact that there were new, uncontrolled weapons in the compound. But on the other hand, he now had Allison in his life. She was the most amazing woman he had ever seen. Yes, she appeared worse for wear after what she had been through, but underneath all the grime there was a stunning woman with model looks.

‘Where did these people come from?’ he asked Ziegler.

Ziegler told his boss all he knew.

‘Fascinating,’ said Ivanovic, to himself, after a moment. ‘Let’s go down.’

As they joined the throng, Ivanovic saw Danielle’s beaming face. With or without the new woman, he was still enamoured by Danielle. It was good and respectful that, as soon as she saw him, she attempted to introduce her brother.

He and Liam shook hands, then did the same with Mr Manning, who was propping Liam up on one leg.

‘Thank you for protecting my sister, Mr Ivanovic,’ said Liam.

‘It’s been an honour. Are you injured?’

Liam explained that he felt he had twisted his ankle. It was badly swollen.

‘I wish I could offer you some ice for it,’ joked Ivanovic, without much humour in his eyes.

Ivanovic glanced at the female newcomers, who were engrossed in conversations.

‘That’s my wife, Zahira,’ pointed out Mr Manning.

‘And that’s Sabrina,’ said Liam. ‘My girlfriend.’

That was news, of course, to Danielle, who shared an amused look with her brother.

Allison was more on the ball than the other two, noticing the main man, and came across to say hello. Ivanovic lingered over their handshake. Absolutely bizarrely, Liam had a vision of an old film from home, called
Bless This House
, a spin-off from a comedy series. There was a sleazy character, played by the actor Bill Maynard, who would fondle all the way up a woman’s forearm during an introduction. Liam let out a little guffaw. Ivanovic and Allison missed the noise, being so interested in each other.

‘Allison? It’s a pleasure. My name’s Martin Ivanovic.’

‘Hi.’

‘I hear you’ve had a terrible journey. I hope you will stay with us as long as possible and recharge your batteries.’

‘That’s so kind of you, Mr Ivanovic.’

‘Martin, please. Come, come, let’s get you some food. Everyone, our guests must eat!’

***

Jane Flynn made superb omelettes.

‘As good as Delia Smith’s,’ complimented Michael, much to Jane’s puzzlement.

She did the omelettes for the group’s lunch, in the little canteen beside the laundry room, with Michael served first, of course. As he chewed away, Michael watched the men under his command. He had been talking to them all morning, getting to know them better. An idea had been forming, to use them as decoys in some way, to create a distraction while he fled the Country Club. Phillip, the older man, was the best bet; perhaps making a big, noisy scene about being kept away from his wife. A demonstration. It would be cruel on him ultimately, but Michael had to get a good hour away through the woods.

Michael noticed young Jerry eyeing up his machine gun, sitting at his feet. He knew the boy was not thinking anything stupid.

‘Do you like firearms, Jerry?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

He picked it up and handed it across the table. The magazine was safely in his coat pocket. Jerry handled the weapon with joy and fascination.

‘Ever been shooting, Jerry?’

‘Yes, sir. With my father.’

‘Maybe you could try that out. I’ll ask permission.’

‘Thank you, sir. That would be great. But I don’t think it will be allowed.’

The weapon was passed back. Jane Flynn looked at it, wondering vaguely if it was the same model owned by her man in New Haven.

Michael finished his meal, and Sienna removed his plate. He watched her for a second. Then he looked across at Taylor, eating quietly. Every time he looked at Taylor he remembered how he had beaten her. Then back at the three men. He thought about how many men Ferguson had around him - ten would be a good guess. There were about thirty five normal men at the Country Club. He wondered what was he thinking? Jane placed a cup of coffee before him. What if he didn’t have to flee in the night? What if Ferguson and his whole crew were removed? The men in front of him didn’t exactly fill him with great confidence in that regard, but three or four from the entire place going after one of Ferguson’s men at the same time had a chance of working. He needed some interaction with the other men there. Some way to gauge their collective mood. A football game? Baseball? Golf was the obvious thing. He could organise a pitch and putt competition, on the 18
th
green. Sell it to Ferguson as exercise.

‘Taylor?’

‘Sir?’

‘Do you play golf?’

Ferguson granted Michael an audience over breakfast the next day. Because it was part of his mantra that everyone at the Country Club should take a healthy walk every day, he was keen on the idea, as well as wanting to say yes to the man who had saved his life.

So, Michael was given
carte blanche
to move around freely to chat to all the men there (the women were not allowed to take part), to get a feel for their collective frame of mind. He compiled a mental list of approximately two dozen men aged between eighteen and sixty who seemed to be hiding their anger and rage at their present circumstances in life; men who might be open to a suggestion to take part in an insurrection. During the pitch and putt competition he would broach the subject, as he intended to be on the tee to greet every competitor.

Ferguson’s man, Bill, was delegated to collect the relevant golf equipment and buckets of balls, as well as a blackboard and a trophy. With nothing else pressing, the competition was set for two days later, immediately after the regular morning walk. The females would at least be allowed to watch the event.

Michael spent the next forty-eight hours preparing for the competition. With the help of his three crewmen, they created a temporary tee on the 18
th
fairway (the groundsman in charge of the course had been one of the people to leave early on). Even though none of them would be playing, they had a practice game, which Jerry won easily. At one point, Taylor and Sienna came out to have a look at what they were doing. Michael thought that, out in the bright sunshine, Taylor had remarkably sexy legs. He also thought he should let her in on his plans. But then again, her moody expression shouldn’t suddenly change, so he decided to leave her hating him for the time being.

Phillip asked permission to say something to Michael.

‘For Christ’s Sake, Phillip, just tell me.’

‘I’m worried that you might be involving too many people. Perhaps you should only make the full plan known to those who seem completely ready to act. I’m just… worried.’

Michael realised that was what had been niggling away at the back of his mind; security. A coup had to be a tight-knit enterprise to have any hope of succeeding. He would pick his men carefully.

He patted Phillip on the shoulder. Then, feeling a little light relief was needed, he called Taylor and Sienna over to the tee.

‘You two can have a few shots,’ he told them.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ protested Sienna, ‘I’m no good at this.’

‘Have a try. I insist.’

So, the two young women had a go at pitch and putt. They rarely got a shot anywhere near the green, but it was good fun, entertaining them all, making Sienna laugh, and even raising a smile from Taylor.

Liam McAlister and Danielle Lees were only half brother and sister, but that was just a technicality - they had always been very close. Occasionally, he joked that he would have preferred a brother who could play sports with him, but the two of them got on just fine. Liam had always watched out for Danielle, so when he heard what the true dynamics actually were in the compound, he quickly assured her that she didn’t have to worry about control freak, Ivanovic, or sleazy Ziegler ever again.

Liam was unable to walk on his damaged ankle, so he would just heal for a while, enjoy the recovery time and let his sister and Sabrina look after him. As soon as he was able, they would get out of there on the Manning’s boat. Meanwhile, they caught up on all that had happened to them both, chatted about the event, and what unpleasantness they had gone through.

All Liam’s group were grateful for the rest. There were months of supplies stock-piled, looted from houses where the occupants had failed to come home. And plenty of beds spare. Sabrina quickly got to know Danielle, and it was fun sharing the taking care of Liam. The Mannings, well, they were happy together anywhere. Danielle had thanked them for all their help, then settled them into a room in Mrs Ikin’s house.

Allison was so pleased to be able to have a bath and wash her hair. Ivanovic had arranged for the water to be boiled at his house, and given Allison her own wing, although the en-suite and the mini-gym were pretty much redundant.

She came down to his kitchen in just one of his monogrammed dressing gowns. Ivanovic looked very suave, wearing a whiter than white shirt and dark slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong, tanned, forearms and a Rolex watch. His teeth, definitely whitened, welcomed her with a smile.

‘Allison, you look delightful in that. I’ve made some sandwiches. Very basic ingredients, I’m afraid. But there’s nothing basic about this.’ He showed her a bottle of red wine. She peered at the label, but couldn’t distinguish it from the kind of bottle she would buy down her local supermarket for £5.99, but she gave him a sophisticated smile, nevertheless.

‘Come, let’s get comfortable,’ he said. ‘I want to hear all about you.’ They moved to his candle-lit lounge. ‘What brought you to the States?’

‘Oh, Martin, I don’t like to talk about myself.’

‘I can’t believe you are shy. Were you coming to see a man? You can tell me, I won’t mind.’

‘I just love America, Martin. I thought it was time to come and see it for myself. All the Americans I know hate the place. They don’t realise they are living in paradise. Or were.’

Ivanovic poured Allison a glass of wine and passed it to her.

‘I assure you, Allison. This is one American who loves America.’ He poured his own drink and clinked glasses with her. ‘What do they say in England? Cheers?’

‘Bottoms up.’

From his first and only meeting with Ivanovic, Mr Manning felt unnerved. He was pretty sure he was good at being able to spot a psychopath when he saw one. Perhaps it was his shotgun that got them off on the wrong foot, or maybe Ivanovic didn’t want any more old people in his new commune. Either way, Mr Manning was keen to be on his way, with Zahira, and hopefully the youngsters. Plus, naturally, he was worried about
Maria
. The next time he saw Liam, he suggested making him a wooden trolley, on which he could be towed out of town. Liam persuaded him to rest for a few days, confident he could walk on his ankle by then. Mr Manning knew his wife was tired and stressed, and there was decent food there, so he agreed. He kept his shotgun with him at all times, though, and tried to avoid speaking to Ivanovic, or his toady deputy, Ziegler.

***

Mrs Jefferson was back in the laundry room of the Country Club, drinking tea with Jane Flynn. A new edict had come down from Ferguson: punishment to be administered to both Taylor and Sienna. Their crime: playing golf without permission.

Michael found a locker room where he could punch and kick every single metal door in a rage, until he was spent, and forced to slump to the floor, sweating profusely. He couldn’t find any swear words - his fury was way beyond that kind of thing.

He got to his feet, wiped his face on an old towel, checked that he looked vaguely normal in a mirror, then headed back to the laundry. He entered and stood in silence, looking at the two women, who had both gotten to their feet. After about ninety seconds, Jane felt she should say something.

‘Both girls are in Taylor’s room, sir. Waiting for you.’

Michael felt bile rise up from his stomach. He stared at Mrs Jefferson. Then he looked out the window at the coming dusk.

‘Mrs Jefferson?’ said Michael, ‘When will you have to report back on this punishment?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Last time I was asked two days later.’

‘So, it’s not very likely tonight, is it?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘You look tired, Mrs Jefferson. Why don’t you have an early night? Come back in the morning? I’m feeling tired myself. I don’t feel I would do the punishment justice.’

Mrs Jefferson was not concerned when it took place. She looked at Jane, then back to Michael, nodded and agreed.

‘Thank you, Mrs Jefferson. If anyone asks, say just that  that I was tired and would prefer to do it in the morning. Jane will see you out.’

When they were gone, Michael walked to Taylor’s room and went straight in. Both girls jumped to their feet. Sienna had clearly been crying, while Taylor looked her usual, petulant self.

‘Girls. There will be no punishment tonight. There will be no punishment ever again. You will both go to bed now, in this room, and stay here until I come for you. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Taylor, her face now expressing huge surprise.

It was a big decision to make, but Michael knew it was the right one; giving his machine-gun to a man called Angelo, who was ex-US military, and who would go into the sleeping quarters where three of Ferguson’s men were known to reside.

The order to discipline Taylor and Sienna had been the last straw, and proved the catalyst for action being brought forward three days. There were six other men on board, not counting young Jerry, who would stay with Michael. Two brothers, both architects from Baltimore, called Robert and Jake, were to double-team the man on night guard duty. They were armed with knives. There were two chefs involved, James and Leland, carrying a meat cleaver and a knife, respectively. Leland had impressed Michael with his physique and keenness, so had targeted Ferguson’s main man, Bill, in the suite where he slept. Michael then had two wedding guests, Tom and Evan, both from Florida, who knew where to go for their targets. Overall, the plan was to kill or disable their victims, take charge of the weapons and fall back on the laundry, ready to deal with anyone who had been missed. Michael and Jerry were going after Ferguson, who resided in the Bridal suite. If they could decapitate the leadership then it would surely hinder any violent response from the men.

The raiding parties synchronised their watches in the laundry at 1.45 am, wished each other good luck and set off. Leland came with Michael and Jerry, because Bill was near to Ferguson.

Michael and Jerry both carried kitchen knives, and Jerry had improvised a wooden club as well. As they walked the silent corridors of the Country Club, Michael was astonished at how calm and brave he felt, as if he had taken tranquillisers. Perhaps he was just “in the zone”, and would fall apart days later when he thought back on the events of that night, or maybe his brain refused to let him think about the probable act of base violence he was about to carry out. Besides, Jerry, behind him, was breathing heavily enough for both of them.

They got to the wing with the luxurious guest suites. Carefully, they inched forward, unsure of whether there would be a night guard outside the Bridal suite - but Ferguson didn’t have that many men under his control to have two up all night. All was quiet. Leland connected fists with a shaky-armed Jerry and went to his post. They were waiting for exactly 2am, or for any sound of gunfire. Michael had imagined that Ferguson would storm out into the corridor at the sound of any kind of disturbance, but if that didn’t suddenly happen, then he was going to force entry as quickly as possible.

Michael’s cool nerves were suddenly shot to bits as he realised there was someone behind them. He spun round on his heels, knife brought up violently into the neck of Taylor, who froze. Michael just managed not to carry through with the move as he realised it was her, his heart assaulted by a massive rush of adrenalin, which then jumped to his head and set a vein pulsing across the top of his skull. Now he found a swear word.

‘Fuck!’ he hissed. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Taylor?’

‘I heard what was happening. I want to help, sir.’

‘Stop with the sir shit. Go back to your room.’

She stood her ground. She was frightened, very nervous, but her expression was one of pride. Pride in Michael, and also some guilt for ever doubting him. She was not going to go back to her room while Ferguson was still in charge.

Jerry leant in, showing his watch on a trembling wrist, with seconds to go. Michael wondered if Jerry was going to be much help. Michael pushed Taylor back a few yards.

Two o’clock in the morning arrived, with no gunshots. Michael hoped Angelo was doing the business quietly and efficiently. In the gloom of the corridor, he looked into Jerry’s eyes, saw that the youth was about to wet himself, and gave an aggressive grimace to suggest they were going to do it.

Together they barged through the Bridal suite doors, like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The doors had probably not been locked, as they opened like curtains. They found the living area resembling a pig sty, littered with food and bottles, completely the opposite to what would be expected of the always sartorially-elegant Ferguson. Jerry knew where the bedroom was, so took the lead. Suddenly, Michael felt fear - fear of running in on a man with a loaded gun. Gunshots did then sound from the grounds somewhere. Michael’s head felt like it would split, as he went after Jerry. Jerry, who had not frozen when the time came.

Into the lit bedroom, they found a shape in the bed. It stirred. There was something wrong. Michael and Jerry wanted to attack, but the head which turned on the mattress had long hair. Bang! Bang! Bang! Shots deafened and blinded them - from the bathroom. Ferguson, naked, enraged, fired again, shattering a light. Jerry was first to react, throwing his piece of wood, actually hitting Ferguson right on his nose, stunning him. Michael moved on auto-pilot (he would never be able to remember in the future what exactly he did) but he was over there in a flash, stabbing Ferguson in the chest. The blade was only a small way in, maybe hitting a rib. Michael tried again, and this time the blade almost disappeared. He didn’t attempt to pull it out, Ferguson was going down, quickly followed by stabbing from Jerry. Michael just wanted the gun from Ferguson’s hand. He kicked it free, then stood there panting, vaguely aware that Jerry was still stabbing in a mad frenzy, taking out all his angst and hatred.

A girl gasped - Taylor was in the room, watching Jerry butcher Ferguson, seeing the blood spurt and the squirming form on the floor finally go still. Then Taylor looked at the figure in the bed. Michael focussed his eyes. The girl in bed was alive but lifeless, her hands tied to the bed post, her body nude.

‘It’s Kacie!’ screamed Taylor at him, as she tried to cover her friend’s nudity and tug at her bonds. ‘It’s my friend, Kacie.’

Michael went to the bed. He used the knife, which he realised was bloodless, to cut the ropes, allowing Taylor to take her friend into an embrace.

More gunshots sounded nearby. Then Leland rushed into the room, his face spattered with blood. He nodded at Michael. Michael heard crying, looked at the girls, but it turned out to be Jerry, weeping over the butchered carcass of Ferguson.

‘Let’s go!’ shouted Michael, just as a fire alarm sounded. He pulled Jerry away. ‘Let’s go!’ Then he picked up Ferguson’s handgun and put it into the back of his trousers. Then he took it out again, not keen on inadvertently blowing half a buttock away. He looked for a safety catch but couldn’t see one, so decided to carry it out in front of him, instead. Taylor was dressing Kacie in whatever was at hand, which was Ferguson’s trousers and someone’s coat. Kacie looked drugged in Michael’s opinion.

‘Come on!’ he screamed through the fire siren.

They all left the suite. Some of the people allocated to be in Ferguson’s group challenged them. It was forgiveable, with them not knowing a coup was taking place. Michael threw a punch at someone who grabbed him - he missed, but then they were running down the corridor, aiming for that re-grouping in the laundry.

They could smell smoke, so there was actually a fire. They stopped when they heard more gunfire in the wing containing the laundry. Michael made the decision: time to head for the woods. He took them out through a fire escape door. Leland was ready to split away from them.

‘I’m going to find my friends,’ said Leland.

Michael shook his hand.

‘Good luck to you, Leland.’

Leland ran off into the night. Michael found Taylor tugging at him.

‘I’m not leaving Sienna,’ said Taylor. ‘Or Mrs Flynn.’