The Village King (13 page)

“
I
t’s not
the
forest folk,
then,” said Gary as he leaned on the wall in front of the wash-houses. His
rifle was slung over his shoulder. Three boats bobbed in the bay. One of them
was The Mercury, Malcolm’s yacht. They had traded whisky for fish with Malcolm,
now he had returned to fetch some more. The other two were smaller sail boats.

Stephen sighed. “And we can say goodbye
to the last of the cows too.” His eyes felt heavy. He gripped the side of the
wall and leaned over. The rocky cliff plunged down to the warehouses where the
precious whisky was being plundered. They could hear people moving around down
there. The access road to their left was blocked by barrels and men with
cross-bows. The stairs were the same; the stairs where Phil died.

Gary sniffed. “How are we going
to get these bastards?”

Stephen stayed silent. He
couldn’t think how to do it and couldn’t even look Gary in the eye to tell him.
It was Gary who had pulled his collar the night before, dragging him away.
O’Neill had dragged Phil’s body back, Phil’s
body
, while Moore laid down
some covering fire.

Their spot at the wash-houses was
the best place in the village to see the pier, and even then it was only the
edge of the mooring at high tide. Some movement there caught Stephen’s eye. He
tapped Gary’s shoulder and pointed. “On you go, son.”

Gary lifted his rifle and eyed
the scope. The movement vanished and Gary tutted. “Keep looking,” said Stephen.
They held the position for a while but nothing re-appeared. Stephen clasped his
hand on Gary’s shoulder and told him to leave it.

Gary relaxed. “They’ll wait until
dark.”

“So will we, then.”

“Hang on.” Gary resighted his
rifle. Movement on the pier as someone moved then ducked out of sight. Then a
rowing boat, pulled by two men moved out into the bay. “That’s one of our
barrels.”

“Take it easy,” said Stephen. He
could see the dinghy was bigger than the one Malcolm had used, probably big
enough for a gang of them to get ashore last night, and now it was heading out
to the yachts. Two men were rowing it and on the stern sat perched a barrel of
whisky.

Gary breathed out and pulled the
trigger. The shot rang out. A few moments later, they could see the men
suddenly rowing faster, apparently unharmed. Gary swore.

Stephen clapped him on the back.
“Nice try.”

Stephen and Gary walked round towards the
cattle-grid. As they passed the former hall, now the stables, Stephen’s eye
caught one of the soldiers in the paddock next to the manse. He was petting
Cloud, Karen’s horse, and his features were obscured by Terror, who chewed
lazily in front of him.

Gary was saying something about
the work on the ditch but Stephen kept his eye on the soldier. His boots were
muddy and his trousers were in need of a wash, which bothered Stephen because
Pullman was normally so strict with them. He stopped Gary by placing a hand on
his arm and stepped towards the soldier.

Terror suddenly bucked away, and
Cloud followed, revealing the man. He smiled at Stephen. He was about six
metres away. Stephen called out, “Gary!”

Immediately, Gary lowered his
stance and raised the rifle to his shoulder, targeting the man. Still smiling,
the man held his hands out to show he was unarmed. Wearing only a khaki
vest-top, above his grubby trousers and boots, he stepped forward. Black
lesions dotted his arms and a large purple boil at the neck showed he had the virus.

“Who are you?” Stephen shouted.
It had to be one of the soldiers who had deserted all those weeks ago. “Stay
right there.”

“I am Private Kevin Davis,” said
the soldier. He slowed but did not stop. Keeping his hands outstretched, he
kept moving towards them.

Gary shifted his position. “What
will I do?”

“Don’t shoot him,” said Stephen,
holding out a hand in warning. “But keep him covered.”

Davis halted about two metres
from them. He dropped his smile and closed his eyes and leant his head back.
Breathing deeply through his nose, he seemed content while the purple boil
stretched and pulsed. Stephen pulled Gary by the shoulder to move him around,
away from the cattle grid. From a window in the manse, Alana dragged Karen away
from the window.

Davis blew air out gently between
pursed lips. He opened his eyes and turned to face Stephen. “We have other
weapons.”

Stephen shivered.
We have
other weapons.
Joseph had told him that in the woods. He had meant the
virus, Stephen realised, and this was Joseph sending it into the Village.

“Don’t worry,” said Davis. His
smile had returned, chilling despite its intended warmth. “I’m not here to hurt
you.”

“Then why are you here?” Stephen
was afraid of the answer.

Davis shrugged. “Just stay out
the forest. It’s ours.” He started to back off towards the cattle-grid. He let
his hands drop to his side.

“Stay on him.” Stephen tapped
Gary on the shoulder and they advanced.

Davis stopped. He looked around,
thinking. “I think I’ll go for a swim.” He turned and walked slowly to the edge
of the village.

Stephen tried to think what he
meant. This was a warning from Joseph, to stay away, but he had sent someone
with the virus only for him to walk away. Then he got it. “Do not let him in
the reservoir!”

They followed Davis out the village.
Silently, he left as quietly as he had arrived. They did not dare let him near
the water supply. They killed him and burned his body when it was far enough
away from the village.

T
hey met
in
the church.
Pullman and Talbot left their weapons in the entranceway and came in. Stephen
and Gary sat facing Charlie and Frank. Alana sat quietly behind Stephen holding
both Karen’s hands. The soldiers sat down between the two pairs, making a
square cornered U-shape.

Charlie smiled at the soldiers
and thanked them for coming. He turned back to Stephen and said, “Again. I
think we should ask the others.”

Stephen said, “This is a war
council.”

Charlie snorted. “War council?”

“What else do you call it when
you’re invaded and your resources are being stolen?”

“Piracy?” Charlie offered. Frank
shuffled in his seat.

“Charlie, you’re arguing over
wording? And not to mention what just happened with Private Davis.” Stephen
shook his head. He felt like he didn’t have the energy for this, despite just
shouting at Charlie. He just wanted to go somewhere and cry about Ellen and
Jack. And Phil, who lay in the cold vestry.

“Stephen,” said Frank, and
gestured around the building. “The church.”

Stephen looked at him with weary
eyes, knowing his expression was dark. Frank stared back at him, the way
Stephen’s own father had when he was thinking “I’ve already bloody told you.”

Stephen let it go. “Charlie, the
village will do what you recommend. These soldiers will do what we ask of
them.”

Pullman and Talbot didn’t respond
directly but they glanced at each other. Stephen wondered where their loyalties
would lie if it came to choosing sides. Charlie said, “Except perhaps hurl
themselves at a hail of arrows.”

“Agreed,” said Stephen and looked
at the floor. He felt Phil gasp and go stiff in his arms all over again. “But I
want that bastard Malcolm’s boat holed, burned and sunk.”

Everyone looked at each other,
nervously. Frank spoke first. “It might be better if we could capture one of
the boats for our own needs.”

“Are you kidding?” Stephen knew
he was right but he couldn’t help himself being angry. Frank swallowed and sat
back.

Pullman tried to sound
reasonable. “Before we decide which of those options we prefer. We need a plan
for how to get down there.”

Stephen said, “Any ideas?”

“I’ve got it,” said Gary, without
waiting for Pullman to respond. “The road and steps are out of order. But we go
down the cliff in front of the wash-houses.”

Talbot said, “It could be done.
You done it before?”

Gary shrugged. He hadn’t but he
tried to make it look like he had.

Pullman interjected, “What about
the water?” They all looked at her. She went on, “We go out the village, down
the river, and round the point onto the shore.”

Stephen looked at Charlie, who
turned the sides of his mouth down in agreement. Stephen shook his head. “It’s
too far. The water’s too cold.”

“After dark it will be low tide
again,” said Alana. Stephen turned round and glared at her. She ignored him.
“And something else to consider when you’re aiming at those boats. If you steal
them, or hole them, where do your pirates go then?”

“Who cares?” said Stephen.

She sighed and looked at him.
“They will stand and fight if you force them to. Make them flee, or there will
be more casualties.”

Charlie and Frank looked
uncomfortable at his and Alana’s exchange. Stephen turned his back to her.
“Right. We need a plan. Either we leave them to take what they want, and we’ve
got another Morgan on our hands, or we do something about it.”

Talbot eyed Stephen. “And what
about Joseph?”

“We’ll take care of him
afterwards,” said Stephen, eyeing Talbot back.

Alana spoke again. “You can’t
beat him, you know.” Stephen said nothing. He looked at the roof, his jaw
slightly forward. Alana went on, “He’s a fanatic. His people are fanatics.
Davis walked down here to die. Just like that.”

Talbot looked to Pullman and the
two of them watched the floor.

“What do you suggest?” Charlie
asked.

Alana sat forward. “Keep out of
his forest. It’s his.”

Charlie leaned forward. “We need
wood.”

“It’s his,” Alana said again, ice
in her tone. “Didn’t you hear him?”

L
ight was
fading
. Two more
yachts had moored up in the bay. Their decision had been made for the
villagers. The boats were not going to just fill up and leave. This wasn’t
going to be like before. Boats and men would keep coming until the warehouses
were empty and when they had more men, they might think about what else the
village had to offer them.

Stephen sat in the kitchen,
checking his weapons. He had cleaned the Glock and had reassembled it, taking
Alana’s advice not to oil it too much. His knife was clean and sat on the
table. Karen sat watching him, drinking in every detail of what he was doing.
Alana leaned against the worktop sipping nettle tea.

“There is another option, you
know,” she said.

He tried ignoring her after
showing him up like that at the meeting. Despite knowing she was right, she had
undermined him in front of the others. Eventually, when he realised she was
waiting for him to respond, he asked, “Which is?”

She spoke to him gently. “Forget
it. Leave. We’ll all go together.”

Something caught in his throat
and he swallowed. It was inconceivable that he should leave but he found it
hard to explain, even to himself, what motivated him. He had arrived here only
three months ago, for the first time in years, and now it was about to taken
away from him. But it wasn’t his village to be taken from him, he realised. It
was Ellen’s.

She gestured with her mug. “I’m
going to saddle up Cloud and Terror. If things get bad, we’re going.”

Stephen almost threw the gun on
the table. He felt so defeated. He lowered his head, stretching his fingers as
his palms rested on the table. Alana sat down beside him and placed a hand on
his. “It’s my son,” he said, suddenly understanding why he was doing this.

“Phil?” Alana tried to soothe him
with her voice.

“No,” said Stephen, lifting his
head and meeting her eyes. “It’s my son, Jack.”

He had told Alana nothing of his
life before meeting her, and all he knew of her was her job as a Forensic
Psychologist. It was as if, clinging to each other in the dark, their past
lives would have encroached on the new. He said, “I was away with work.”

Alana shifted in her chair and
she swallowed. She looked at Karen, considering sending her out the room, but
she kept quiet. Wide-eyed, Karen watched. Stephen told them everything.

He had been a lorry driver in 2015 on a run to
Manchester. Living with Ellen and Jack in Dumfries, he took for granted that
they would be there when he got back, even when things were turning bad. The
virus hadn’t quite gotten a grip, but already the Scottish Government had taken
over the businesses. Along with three other trucks, he was hauling water south
to the boundary of the infected zone.

The wall at Carlisle, which ran
across the M74, was garrisoned by the army. They checked his paperwork and
waved the convoy through. From there, they were escorted along the M6 by more
soldiers. It gave Stephen the feeling that his family were safe back in
Scotland.

Everything was uneventful until
they got to Preston. A roadblock, of cars and concrete blocks, was set up where
the motorway joined the M61. Even without petrol rationing, and there being
little traffic, travel restrictions meant the roads had been clear until that
point. A roadblock meant bad news.

It turned out the infected zone
had become worse and the roadblock had been set up by a rogue police unit who wanted
the water for themselves. A fire fight broke out between the police and
soldiers. Stephen had made it out of his cab, somehow unhurt, and fled on foot.
One of the soldiers had been shot, and while he lay on the ground dying,
Stephen grabbed at a pistol and ran.

It took him a long time to get
back. He found some kindness, people who shared some food, but he also found
cruelty as things broke down. Having taught himself how to use the pistol he
killed his first man outside Staveley Train Station over nothing. It was
raining. The man had been standing in a doorway and had followed Stephen down
the street. It was dark with no-one else around. He had shoved Stephen in the
back and he had tried to ignore him but he kept on pushing for no reason.
Stephen had stumbled into the building on the corner. He looked up at the sign
attached to the wall: fading and water damaged, it was the timetable for trains
which no longer ran.

Stephen felt for the gun in his
pocket. He just rammed it into the man’s chest, released the safety and pulled
the trigger. The recoil grazed his hand between thumb and forefinger. The man’s
face was surprised and he just fell back.

Stephen ran. He must have dropped
the pistol because he never saw it again. He kept going. When he finally
reached the wall at Carlisle, there were no troops; no-one at all. Eventually,
he made it back to Dumfries, back to his house, and his life. But when he got
there, he froze. He felt dizzy and his legs were heavy. Ellen and Jack were
gone.

It looked like Ellen had tried to
pack. Their holiday suitcase had some things in it but she hadn’t finished the
job. The case just lay there; open, with a few clothes neatly rolled in the
base. The house was empty; the whole street was empty, like everyone had
cleared out. Next door, their neighbour had stabbed his wife and children with
a kitchen knife and hung himself in the garden. As the neighbour swung there in
the breeze, flies buzzed about the inside of the house. He had lived there for
two years and Stephen didn’t even know their names.

There was no-one to tell him what
had happened. Dead bodies in the street and houses signified the virus had hit
but no sign of Ellen and Jack. Over time, he heard rumours that the army had
evacuated the whole of Galloway. But Stephen had kept searching, going to
places where he thought they might be until he had arrived here, at the
village, where Ellen had grown up.

“I thought she might have come
home, you see?” he said in the kitchen of the manse. “I can’t imagine them
dead, because then what’s the point? But I can’t imagine them alive, because
then that’s worse.”

Alana blew air out between tight
lips, keeping it together. She looked at Karen gravely; imagining, or
remembering, who knows what, thought Stephen. He went on, “I’m sorry I never
told you any of this, but I thought if I reveal my old life, it’s like I’m
admitting it’s over. I have to fight to keep going so I’ll find Jack again.”

Alana got up and moved over to
the window. She leaned on the sink and her shoulders began to tremble. Karen
watched her quietly, as if used to it.

“And I know it is over,” said
Stephen. He listened to himself and saw his whole life for the past five years.
Finding two decayed bodies near Morpeth had seemed like the lowest point. Two police
officers lying forgotten in a field, overcome by the virus, not even buried. He
had sat with them for a while, thinking of their lives, wondering if they had
been good people. He made his mind up they must have been exceptional officers
and, having fallen in their duty, that their tragic deaths somehow symbolised
what everyone had lost. He had hoped for something new then, a better future.
He had lifted their police issue Glocks, one of which lay on the table in front
of him. He told Alana this as she stayed bent over the sink, tears falling onto
the porcelain.

Then he said, “Be prepared.
Saddle the horses. I have to do this one last thing. And when I get back...
Alana.”

He reached out to her and she
came back to sit beside him. She curled up on the chair. He took her hand and
reached out for Karen with the other. Reluctantly, she took it.

He said, “When I get back, Alana,
I want to you to be my wife. And Karen, I want you to be our daughter.”

Karen withdrew her hand. Stephen
knew why, because it was one of the few things Alana had told him, in an effort
to make him understand her silence. “And Karen, when your Mummy and Daddy come
to get you, you will go with them. Until then, you’ll live with us.”

Stephen suddenly had it all
planned in his head. Suzanne would bless them in the church and they could live
in the village together. “Gary is already my son,” he said. “And you will be
with us, safe.”

Karen reached out for Stephen’s
hand.