LAW
Copyright 2002 K. J. Jekyll. All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without the written permission of the author, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, or reviews, that
are deemed favourable.
This book is distributed subject to
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the publishing agent, in this case being specified as K. J. Jekyll, in
any other form of binding other than that in which it is bound.
All the characters in this book have
no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation
whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even
distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all incidents
are pure invention.
This book contains the complete text
of the first larger versions, and is marked this year of our Lord 2002
as The Original. This copy supersedes any others as the original, but all
other copies remain the sole property of the author.
All pros copyrighted as per individual
agreements in volumes VI to VIV supplemental, all parts or parts thereof
remain protected in this publication, whether it be specified or implied.
Produced in New Zealand, Christchurch
by K. J. Jekyll.
Author’s note:
This is book number four, five
hundred thousand words on since last I wrote an author’s note. I’ve heard
it said there is a book in every one, and while I wait for mine, I thought
I might just keep on writing, if it’s all right with everyone...
The words and
ideas come a lot easier now, as I live away this time on the keys of a
keyboard, in front of a computer that is willing to listen to all my problems
- but if I’m not mistaken it’s starting to look bored too. I have attempted
to keep the original feeling with the sequel to A Little Law. All too often
I have read sequels and wondered if they were written by the same person,
or if the author had become trapped in a self dilemma of making the second
book twice as dramatic as the first. I managed to avoid this by writing
the book for himself, as I always tend to do, and really it is of secondary
importance that any one else likes it, but it helps.
In the beginning
there was but a man and a woman, they lived in perfect harmony and were
happy. In time temptation came, brought about by their own desires and
greed, thus they destroyed all that had been and started again. Thus man
is ever creating things just so he can destroy them again, marriage and
divorce, happiness and sorrow, buildings and forests, good and bad...
Maybe there
is a lesson in all this, maybe we will find and understand it one day,
but I hope it is before the world is plunged into something like Law, because
it’s
an interesting story, but I’d hate to have to try and live it...
LAW
A New Beginning
~
7/1
The battle was over, they as a group
had won, and Bret as an individual had lost. At the time he had been sure
this had been the right thing to do - but now...
Having been;
captured, shot, and imprisoned by someone that he had considered to be
a close friend, Andrew, he was only left the freedom to reflect on what
could have been. The annoying thing was, despite the trickery involved
in the betrayal, he only had himself to blame. The raid, the Judas factor,
the sending of Andrew to pave the way, it had been his idea, the whole
damned thing. Again he had outwitted no one but himself, allowing others
to manoeuvre him into a position, where they wanted him to be.
Over the years
- since the sickness, he had learnt the lesson of caution well, yet it
seemed he had learnt nothing, and for the price of this foolishness - well
it had yet to be paid.
For the days
after his internment things didn’t change, the new prisoners were left
to their own devices, except for minor attention from the guards. The only
real contact they had with anyone from the outside was at meal times, when
a surly young man would reluctantly play host, dishing out something that
could only loosely be termed food.
It didn’t take
long for the idea to become apparent, that their time was short changed,
or at least Bret’s was, and that he had another destiny being planned for
him. With this in mind - vividly, he made the best use of the free time,
enjoying the attentions from Melissa, and the lack of them from the gang.
In this respite, from toil and danger he recuperated a fraction, re-acquainting
himself with Melissa a lot.
In a respite
Bret had not banked on, he learnt during their discussions, that Melissa
had spent the whole time since her disappearance here, in the prison -
a pseudo hospital. She had not been allowed visitors, was guarded from
the attentions of the other inmates inside with her, and wasn’t allowed
to do anything that might jeopardise the child she was carrying. It occurred
to him during this time, that she might be the ace up Andrew’s sleeve -
the one that he had talking so obscurely about. Considering these constraints,
he could only wonder why they had been allowed to get together as they
had, unless Andrew had some thing special planned...
~
9/1
On the third day of this respite they
had a visit, from the resident hair dresser, she was here to give they
a hair cut - a curious action at first.
“I don’t need
a cut thanks...” Melissa declared, but this statement had no effect.
A large gentleman
accompanying the hair dresser indicated that they should just follow directions,
rather than make suggestions. While Melissa was still in the process of
coming to terms, with having no control over her appearance, and trying
to cool down, Bret sat in front of the hair dresser.
“Do your worst!”
he invited.
“You’ll think
I have, once you see the cut I’m going to give you.”
At first Bret
was puzzled by this reply, but as hair cascaded around him, he had a good
idea for her tentative answer. She cut his hair as if it were wool, as
if he were a sheep to be shorn. The cut took all of a minute, and at the
end of this, he was bald as a badger.
“You’re next
Melissa,” the woman smiled sadly.
“You’re not
going to do that to me are you?” Melissa hoped for the best.
“I’m sorry,
boss’s orders...”
“Some boss...”
There was no
escape, they were the prisoners - those standing over them the captors.
Melissa looked pathetically defiant as her hair was removed, and at the
end of the process, she stood and jointed Bret. With a questioning look
she gave his bald head a puzzled glance, as a small amount of water came
to her eyes. They hugged briefly, trying to give each other strength, as
the reality of their situation came fully to them. Life would be no holiday
from now on, this was the living hell the girls had talked at length about,
and they were to experience it at first hand!
Shortly after
their dehairing, the hair dresser and her escort left, sweeping away their
hair and dignity in one foul swoop. In the wake of such an unexpected event,
all they could do was sit on one of the beds, and console themselves that
it could have been worse. During this interlude he made a silent prayer,
that things didn’t get worse - but who knew what Andrew might do to get
his revenge.
“Do you suppose
we’ll ever be allowed outside?” Melissa posed one of many questions, that
they were to face in the emptiness of their confinement.
“If I know Andrew,
he’ll have something in mind for us, but only he, God, or time, will ever
reveal that.” then with a frown he aired one of the thoughts that now rode
upon him like a millstone. “I was really fooled by him, I trusted, even
thought of him as a real friend. It’s just so hard to think of him as the
enemy, I keep on expecting him to poke his head round the corner, and say
something witty...” and that was the hardest part of this, the loss of
a friend. In a way it seemed like he had traded Melissa for Andrew.
They sat in
silence for a moment or two, unable to put on an air of happiness, there
was just too many things displaced, emotions out of place, and maybe just
a hair or two! In his mind there floated a multitude of pictures
of; people and events, episodes and aspirations lost from his life and
control. All that was left to him now was a burning desire, he wanted to
reach out and touch the faces of so many friends, Robin, Helen, Michael...
the list was endless. Taking a deep breath, he turned from this soul destroying
line of thought, it could only lead to the same place it always did, a
dead end, the road to depression.
Arm in arm,
two bald and branded individuals, they tried to give each other strength,
for the others in the confines of the hospital would have little or nothing
to do with them. As if by some silent but common decree, they were left
totally alone, no one spoke to them, and if they should happen to lock
eyes with someone, the other would quickly turn away. They were the lepers,
Montgomery the ruthless leader had put his curse upon them, rightly no
one wished to join in this very dangerous exile.
~
10/1
A further day passed with little to
do except consider what had been, and what might have been. So it came
to be on the fourth full day after the battle, that Andrew sent an agent
to bring Bret before him. The messenger / thug, apart from being the size
of a small elephant, had the mental capacity of a six by four. After several
attempts at trying to discover what was to come, he gave up. It seemed
to answer any questions was well beyond this escort, and before Bret had
a chance to pursue this any further, he was saved, by the fact that they
had arrived at their destination.
Having crossed
the ravaged enclosure, that was being slowly cleaned up, they entered a
more elaborately finished prefab than the others. Rich red carpet lined
the interior of the entrance, very presumptuous Bret thought.
“Wait here!”
the baboon managed, Bret was momentarily surprised at his abilities to
talk, and with baited breath waited for more, but there wasn’t another
word spoken for the rest of the trip.
Bret was left
to stand conspicuously on the red carpet, to admire the pictures of important
people, he noticed the biggest was Andrew’s. These photos were from before
the sickness, so whatever delusions of grandeur were being had, they’d
started well before now. Again he felt disgusted with how he had been fooled
and what this gang represented, there was no future here, they were just
playing at being soldiers. All curiosity at what lay ahead became blotted
out, as he casually happened to glance at the pictures on the wall opposite
to Andrew’s. Under the loose caption traitors, there were mug shots taken
by what looked like a polaroid, some of which consisted of two parts, before
and after - alive and dead!
“So this is
Justice’s blind face...” Bret breathed, but before he had time to curse
this place to hell, the Devil himself called for an audience. From the
depths of an office he heard a voice summon him, and by its tone he didn’t
expect a warm welcome.
“Bret Wilson,
enter and present yourself for court martial...”
Passing over
the threshold of the room, revealed that the office was more a court room
than anything else. With high backed velvet chairs, the accusers sat with
a commanding view, over a plain but highly polished wooden floor - the
red carpet treatment ended at the door. As Bret was considering the last
statement, that normally you had to belong to the organisation before they
could court martial you, his thoughts were diverted then shattered.
“Let the accused
be presented before the chair!” a cryer announced.
Accused of what?
Bret looked to a primly dressed man, for a clue as to what was happening
here, but he was merely waved him to a stall, that stood conspicuously
to one side of the expanse of polished wood. Making his way unescorted
to what could only be the dock, he found himself installed in a cage, the
signs of ill were all around him now.
The cryer found
it necessary to remain in character, breaking the deathly silence of the
echoy room, with words that were well out of character and their time.
“Silence, all
rise and show respect to the leader most exalted, Sir Montgomery!”
Bret's attention
was captured by this name, Andrew had mentioned this guy as being a butcher,
a ruthless killer, now he was to finally meet with him. Bret wanted to
see what a ruthless killer looked like before he died, or more preferably,
what he looked like and live to tell the tale. Amidst a rustling of footsteps,
a clinking of chains, an escort of enforcement personal, the leader most
exalted came to be amongst them. With a glance he recognised the face,
and sneered at the lie that Andrew had made, for it would seem, that Andrew
was Montgomery.
With due pomp
and ceremony the procession of high and mighty officials strode in, Bret
despised them all the more for their show. Finally after bringing gavel
and such artefacts to bear, they sat in judgement - as he was considered,
being a man of such heinous crimes. Andrew, for he found it difficult to
think of him by any other title, raised his eyes, in them was the looked
of a predator, Bret read the judgement to come from them. The cryer puffed
up and began to cry once more, but his eyes never left Andrew’s, for these
were his words, his actions - his future.
“Bret Wilson,
you are accused of on the 7th day of January, at 20:00 hours, in the second
year of Lord Montgomery, of instigating an attack on this complex. It was
a premeditated action, whose sole purpose was to destroy the integrity
of this community’s population base. More so over, above, and beyond this,
your prime intention was to steal this community’s workers, and to damage
the installation as much as possible.”
There was a
pause, obviously for Bret to show signs of regret, that he didn’t feel.
The only regret he felt if any was, that they hadn’t done a good enough
job, and finished this mongrel lot off. As if to teach him a lesson for
showing no signs of remorse the cryer continued, adding further charges
to the list.
“A further count
of such an instance, of an instigated attack, is also brought to be charged
against you, the date being logged as the 18th, day of December, at 07:30
hours in the first year of Montgomery.”
This was his
first attack, it hadn’t been premeditated, it wasn’t even really an attach,
it had been a rescue mission, where Bret helped get Melissa and her sister
Jane back together. Having been caught on the last raid, Andrew now had
some one to charge for his group’s failure to stop him, did it mean he
was to be a scape goat, an example of his benevolence, or more likely some
one he could blame...
“Having made
these accusations, the accused is requested to answer the charges. On the
first count of the attack in December and subsequent theft of five female
workers how do you plea?”
Defiantly Bret
stared at Andrew, then seeing no effect, he let his eyes switch to each
of the so called officials, but they too were of stone. To deny anything
would be to be contrary to his cause, against everything he had worked
for, there would be no point changing his course now, he would be found
guilty anyway. To die with self respect had to be better, than being branded
a coward by ones own judgement.
“I am guilty
of nothing, if I am guilty it is of rescuing people who did not wish to
be part of your community...”
“Just answer
- guilty or not guilty!”
“In that case
I answer guilty and not guilty!”
“You must answer
to one or the other, not both!” the cryer demanded.
This was becoming
a shouting match that Bret could never win, so he didn’t try to continue,
the situation was ridiculous, a farce amongst farces. His unwillingness
to play their little game annoyed them no end, from here on no matter how
many times they requested, and then demanded he reply to the charges, he
would not.
“Very well,
since you refuse to answer the charges against you, we are forced to enter
the plea on your behalf. On the first charge of attacking this installation,
called for reference henceforth as the Fortress, of attacking, stealing...”
he went on, cataloguing every single little thing that could possibly be
a consequence of his action or inaction. As if this list wasn’t enough,
the second attack was added to the list of the first.
Bret got the
impression quite early on, that they were planning on making his crimes
cover every thing that had gone wrong, for at least the last couple of
months. The question of how he was to be judged was answered, he was an
escape goat for the groups problems, a means by which Montgomery could
shed the responsibility for actions, deeds and plans that had failed.
“...thus having
listed the crimes against this community as a whole, we plead for the accused,
that he is guilty in every count.” saying this the cryer lowered his sheets,
turned to the line of officials, bowed, then turned back to Bret.
“Be seated accused,
you have no voice by choice, and therefore you shall have only to wait
for sentencing!”
Bret would have
told him to take a long walk off a short pier, but his vow of silence held
him against such an action. So they sat, the officials and he, the adjudicators
of justice and the accused. For several minutes they stayed like this,
a few of them leaned this way and that, as if to discuss the decision,
but the verdict had been made that night when Andrew had faced him in the
prison. In their last meeting he had told him to go to hell, having damned
him with the statement, that he would have preferred the company of his
most ardent enemy to a traitorous friend. Bret counted on him evening the
score now. Andrew rose slowly, as if the justice he had to mete out was
a heavy responsibility, it made the situation seem just that little bit
more ridiculous.
“Here yea one
and all, that after due consideration a verdict has been reached, and that
all officials on the bar have come to an agreement on the sentence. Arise
accused, you shall be upstanding in the presence of our verdict!”
The way in which
Andrew addressed him made Bret’s stomach churn, he had a bad feeling about
the coming sentence, a feeling like no other, except possibly when in the
throws of his trouble with Robin. Surely Andrew
wouldn’t do anything silly like have him live in solitary, publicly flogged,
jailed for life, or other such symbolic things? Bret diverted his
attention hastily then, as he was propelled to his feet by a bailiff, the
verdict and sentence were coming to be passed.
“As my capacity
dictates, being duly elected chief marshal of the laws of this land, it
is my duty and obligation to see justice done to its full. Thus it is in
my jurisdiction and right to pass sentence upon this man. Found guilty
upon all counts, we have come to the decision that a man of this calibre
cannot be allowed to exist in our society. Such a person of cunning and
resourcefulness, could quite conceivably find others of weak character
to aid his cause, in this case being evidently the destruction of this
community. So I pass the sentence, that Bret Wilson be held in captivity,
questioned, undergo psycho analysis, then summarily upon completion of
this, be executed in full witness of the community, as an example of the
strength of our convictions.” With a flourish he waved the sheet before
him, and sat with a line creasing his features, the line was that of a
smile!
The world lost
its reference for Bret, nothing seemed real, the stall, floor and room
becoming like the people before him, totally indistinct. The only thing
that remained was the sentence - he had been sentenced to death!
From the midst of his lack of focus he heard a question, it repeated several
time and to humour his sadistic curiosity he listened to what was being
asked.
“Does the convicted
person wish to say anything?”
Looking from
his stall to the chair that hung before and above him, Bret thought of
a thousand things, a thousand lines to curse God, and this creature he
had once called a friend, Andrew.
“Will it make
any difference?” Bret forced from reluctant lips, for he knew the answer
without hearing it.
“No, but it
may unburden your soul, if you wish to confess to the crimes you have been
proven of...”
Bret cut him
off, before he was accused of the harbouring sickness, creating the lack
of food, petrol, the weather, and only God knew what else.
“You have proven
nothing, except that you are unworthy of anyone’s respect, let alone mine.
This community will perish under your tyranny, you are condemning these
people to a slow death! If ever I escape from this place, I’ll cover
the surface of this planet to see you destroyed, to see you damned to hell
- forever!”
“Very dramatic
Bret, but these sentiments change nothing, you are still our prisoner,
a condemned one at that. For all your threats and promises, you’ll be long
dead and gone before anyone even misses you. But
don’t worry I’ll pass your message on, when I flatten that insidious group
at Westex, because that’s the next thing on the agenda, after cleaning
up the mess here. So breath easily, you’ll have plenty of time to savour
your sentence, plenty of time to realise just how much you screwed up,
and how much you’re going to miss your life...” With this Andrew or more
properly Montgomery turned, and with a single gesture indicated to some
hidden source that the trial was over.
The jingling
of keys announced the arrival of the escort, the jailor come to take Bret
back to the prison hospital, a place that would be home until his death.
The situation while crystal clear didn’t seem real - no doubt he would
understand it all too well when he was dead, then and only then. The trip
back to the prison held no surprises, he knew what lay before him now,
and in a way it was easier to face the future, even though he had no real
future any more. Once inside, his escort slammed the door and locked it,
having not uttered a word, no doubt the instructions regarding him were
strictly no talking.
With this event
out of the way, he faced the room, there were forty beds here, two rows
of twenty, at the end the showering, toilet, and kitchen facilities were
exposed to the room. It was a mixed gender prison, where there were no
favourites, no concessions made for your condition or age. The design of
the prison was such that no one had any privacy, or for that matter much
of anything, this was just part of the sentence - the stay here wasn’t
supposed to be pleasant. One side of the room was a solid wall, while the
other had heavily barred windows, that let in a reasonable proportion of
natural light. There were no heating facilities, for either air or water,
just a small single burner kerosene oven top.
To say the conditions
were primitive was an understatement, the prisoners here being treated
as mere objects of questionable use, pawns that had little or no value.
Though the other people here wouldn’t speak to him, he knew from his association
with Robin, Melissa and Jane - that some of these were hostages were being
held here to ensure their relatives on the outside stayed in line. To cross
Montgomery would be to endanger the ones on the inside or outside, thus
those here avoided him like the condemned man he was.
These thoughts
came as he walked down the length of the room to his allocated bed, to
say that it was a bed was a slight over statement. More likely one should
have said it to be a wooden frame, with several old dirty blankets thrown
over it. Reaching this he looked to the next bed, in an obvious attempt
to amuse themselves they had put Melissa here, as if to say, enjoy her
company while you can.
“So how did
it go?” Melissa asked.
Bret had thought
her asleep, but that had been his frame of mind not her condition. “Ah,
not so well...”
“They'll, how
long did he give you; a week, a month, a year, life...?”
“Not as good
as that I’m afraid, he’s obviously got a point to prove, and he’s going
to make the example - he sentenced me to death...” saying this, he sat
on the bed, his words echoing in his ears.
The look on
Melissa’s face said it all, without her having to utter a single word.
She as Bret, was devastated by the sentence. She rose from her bed, ignoring
the guard and sat by him, and in a single motion put an arm round his shoulders.
“No it’s not real, how can he do such a thing...” but she accepted the
reality of the event, despite her words.
So they sat
in a semblance of silence, that was only broken by the odd statement of
disbelief. As they remained like this, Bret spared a look to their surroundings,
and the people who shared them with they. Now and
again he caught a fellow prisoner giving they a puzzled glance, then quickly
look away. Despite his predicament and their lack of concern, he couldn’t
blame them.
“So what the
hell can we do?” Melissa broke the growing silence.
“Quite frankly,
I don’t think we can do anything. This place is like Fort Knox, and by
the number of guards I saw out there, I’m sure Andrew is going to make
sure his justice is dished out, one way or the other. And that’s another
thing, Andrew told me they are preparing to make a raid on the community
in Westex, just as we tried to do here, he’s bent on revenge or something,
bent on wiping them out. God if there weren’t enough things to worry about,
enough death already, the bloody idiot is planning a war. I wish we could
put a spanner in his works, like he did to us, there must be a way, there
just has to be...”
With a start he realised, that
he was more concerned with the people at Westex and their fate, than he
was about himself. Bret could accept his own death, but not the demise
of the people he loved so far away. Escape had
to be the answer, escape and warn the others before Montgomery, aka Andrew
could get his troops to Westex. But to achieve this, would be to do what
he had but several breaths ago dismissed as being impossible.
So what was
the answer, could he bargain with the monster, offer to be the Judas factor
for him, then double cross this gang just as Andrew had done to him?
No Andrew wouldn’t be that stupid. Try as he might Bret could find no easy
solution, nothing that might put sway to the coming battle, the revenge
bout. One thing he was sure of though, he was sure that Andrew would level
the hall, despite its power and useful strategic position. He would destroy
everything that the place stood for, and with it the hope that had been
given to the area. Now - all too late, it was blatantly clear that Andrew
was just another destroyer, a plunderer, a medieval Viking, a true barbarian.
Some ghost from the past would be proud of his actions, some pirate like
Blood Beard, Sea Dog had been in Death’s Domain.
“We’ll think
of something,” Melissa assured him, “and while there’s life there’s hope...
did I quote you correctly?”
“I didn’t quite
say it like that, but I’m living from day to day now, so as you say every
moment counts, put your thinking cap on - there must be some way out of
this mess.”
Before they
could come to any conclusions, the guards decided they had spent enough
time together, instructing them to separate, and maintain a respectful
silence. As they complied they had to wonder who the respectful silence
was for - a silence for the dead maybe? Despite the guards efforts
to stop them plotting, neither of them stopped thinking on the subject
matter, it lived with them, just as the threat of his life’s end did.
Chapter 1
From the time of his sentencing
life took on a new meaning, every breath, every second of life came to
be valued - and treasured. Melissa who had been only a casual acquaintance
became more than just a friend, she was carrying his child for one thing,
and he was sentenced to death for another. She took it upon herself to
spend as much time as possible with him, the guards vigil taken into consideration,
other than this she was a constant companion. They talked on various subjects,
and naturally she wished to know just what had happened, since Nancy had
left her for dead.
“Has Jane got
herself a man yet?” she started, it obviously being the most important
thing.
“No, the opportunity
hasn’t really been available, what with the conflicts, trips to find various
things like books, Freeda’s parents, fuel, food, weapons etc. I suppose
you could say that Jane’s become one of the key elements in the group...”
“She’s what!”
“Yeah it started
just after your supposed death, I think that was what triggered it, she’s
changed quite a bit in the last few weeks... I just wish you could meet
her again.”
“You and me
both partner!”
Despite their
efforts the same old compulsion keep creeping back, the sense that his
days were numbered. Their discussions were diversions sure, but they were
also more than this. Melissa was trying the bridge the gap between where
she was now, and where she wished to be - with her friends and sister.
“Do you think
there’s any way to escape from here?” Bret had to ask, during one of these
times.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah honestly!”
“No. You must
have seen the number of thugs round here, and the walls are five meters
high, the only way out is to be broken out. I don’t think there’s much
hope of that now, since nobody knows we’re here... sorry but you did say
honestly.”
“It’s okay,
but every prison has a weak point, we’ve just got to find it, find it before
you know what...” meaning his execution.
It was only
the day after his sentencing, and the shock still hadn’t fully penetrated
his numbed senses. By now his impending future had become public knowledge,
making his cell mates doubly unfriendly, as if they had been even remotely
friendly before this.
“Tea’s up!”
someone shouted, invading their discussions.
Taking the distraction,
as a welcome change from the routine of doing nothing, they joined the
throng, not that there was anything to get excited about. The meal, in
fact all the meals consisted of a stew type affair, probably left overs
from the real meals, that the rest of the gang had. Since they were not
really part of the group, they were fed food that wasn’t really food, but
who were they to complain - it was better than no food at all, and death.
Having received their slops, they retreated to the sanctuary of the beds,
just as the others did, avoiding attracting the attention of the grunts
that ruled the establishment.
“Does anything
ever change here?” Bret asked, with a sense that the answer would be no.
“No, they tell
us from time to time that we are the lucky ones, and believe me we are
- I’ve seen a few of the others, the unprivileged ones outside the walls...”
she shuddered, but he waved her on, curiosity biting at his sense of freedom.
“If their wounds aren’t bad enough they cut off a limb, or blind them for
sport, then set them free. Some last for days, weeks, or even months, before
infection, hunger and madness get the better of them.”
Bret didn’t
ask for further amplification on this, and concentrated instead on making
the best of the stew, counting his blessings, before they tried doing something
similar to him - other than execute him that is.
During the silence
of taking his meal, he surveyed the confines of the prison, then the inhabitants
- again. In all there were forty people housed in this unit, and he thought
this to be one hell of a lot of prisoners, till Melissa informed him there
was another cell, with a similar number on the other side of the encampment.
The other prison was a new wing, for the uninjured but nevertheless troublesome
citizens. Everyone here had a wound of some description, or required some
sort of medical attention. Taking this as a clue Bret tried to sum up the
troublesome crew here, and despite himself he couldn’t think of these people
as desperadoes, they didn’t have the right look. The six in the Land Rover
that had been visiting the farms; killing, raping, looting... they were
the sort of scum he had in mind, the sort that should have been locked
up - or dead.
Trying to make
a decision, having finished the meagre portion, Bret swung his legs to
the wooden floor and slowly wandered back, to where the dishes were cleaned
and stored. Every inmate had to clean their own dishes, dry and stow them,
or risk the humour of the guards. As he did his expected chores he was
joined by a young man, brandishing a large bandage round his head. His
eyes were red and very close together, giving him the look of a ferret
- immediately Bret was on his guard.
“Mate...” he
spat out the one word necessary to get past him, he said it like an insult,
as if Bret were someone to be despised.
“What do you
mean by that?” Bret halted his attempt to get passed.
“You’re the
reason I’m in here, I was on guard duty the night you attacked. My sentence
is to remain here till some one else tries to break in, or you are dead...
thanks for nothing.” then his anger got the better of him, he saw a possible
way out, Bret’s death.
Fortunately
Bret had been expecting something like this, so the incident was both brief
and spectacular. The attacker found himself on the floor with a broken
jaw, and before either could continue the grunts were upon them - hard.
The pain in Bret’s shoulder screamed as he was man handled to a bunk, thankfully
his opponent was treated in the same manner.
“That’s enough
from the likes of you!” he was warned, and incredibly they left it at that.
“Are you okay?”
Melissa called out as quiet as she could.
“Yeah - I think
so.”
“Not very smart,
you shouldn’t attract the grunts’ attention like that, it’s just an invitation
for trouble...”
“Like I had
a choice!” he broke in, a bit louder than was wise.
A grunt raised
his eyes from a game of cards, debating whether he need settle the disturbance,
Bret’s continued silence gave him a chance to debate the answer further.
Looking in their general direction he made his meaning clear, then put
down a card, diverting his attention back to the game. Taking a deep breath,
Bret played a game of charades with Melissa instead. When the lights went
out they could again share the same bed, it wasn’t condoned, but such actions
were shown a blind eye by the night guards, who wanted no trouble - for
the sake of peace.
~
15/1
Time dragged like a snail on sand,
they the prisoners were not given the materials to pursue any activities,
apart from the taking of tea. The theory was that they were only allowed
to savour the taste of their folly, that of having displeased the lord
of the manor - this royal majestic holiness Montgomery.
From time to
time the prison escort came and dragged Bret from the prison, delivering
him to several authorities for questioning. True to Andrew’s promise he
had him questioned, analysed and prodded by Dr Adams. The outcome of all
this attention was kept from him, for he was, as he had been reminded several
times, nothing but a condemned prisoner.
The relationship
between Melissa and him wasn’t that of a lovers type, more it was centred
upon being two lonely souls amongst a number of strangers. To them any
comfort was a blessing and the fact that Melissa carried his child did
introduce complications, on both sides. To him there was that feeling of
having an obligation, a responsibility, and yet at the same time a sense
of pride - for wasn’t he one of the only fathers in this time. To Melissa
there was that age old maternal feeling, the need for security in a time
where her body was undergoing all types of changes. The time they found
themselves in did nothing to reassure her.
Bret had plenty
of time to reflect on such things, till the lights finally came to be extinguished,
and just before they did he had struck upon an idea. If he were the only
person to father a child, that he knew of, it had to mean that Melissa
or he held the key to this fertility thing - didn’t that give him some
sort of immortality, alive or dead. Running on from this, could he use
this to convince Andrew that he was too valuable to kill off, purely as
a show of power? It was a last straw he had to admit, because Andrews’
actions seemed to have little to do with rationale, but a whole lot to
do with revenge. These thoughts were in their final death throws as Melissa
slipped into bed, silent and yet very much a presence to be acknowledged.
Since his last
episode with the exguard he had had several more brushes with him, Melissa
was bent on pointing out the folly of this. “You didn’t do yourself and
favours getting involved with him...” and went on to explain the virtues
of being a saint.
With a squeeze
of her upper arm Bret halted her lecture, he didn’t feel up to being reminded
of his stupidity. “Okay, we all make mistakes, but the incident at our
first meeting was a gut reaction, he had it coming and I needed to lash
out at something - I feel better for it.”
“Do you?”
“Surprisingly
yes, so it just goes to show that I’m a creature of physical reactions
- just like everyone else. But don’t worry I’m not planning on making a
career of it.”
“Good, if you
did I’d have to find a new boy friend!”
“Oh yeah, amongst
this lot, fat chance.” she didn’t refute it though, because you see there
was some truth in what he said.
As they lay
next to each other, they were very aware of what had gone before, but for
all intense in purposes they were still strangers. Bret knew the folly
of starting something here and now, the surroundings just didn’t shed that
romantic ambience. The memory of Robin was enough for the moment to satisfy
any of his needs. They talked for hours in half whispers and mild body
language, probably trying to reassure each other that the nightmare they
found themselves in didn’t exist.
Their lives
be very boring, a predictable ritual that would never deviate from the
mean, a purposeful form of torture to drive the prisoners under the threshold
of resistance. If it hadn’t been for Melissa, Bret doubted he would have
lasted more than a couple of days without getting into serious trouble,
and it occurred to him that Andrew had made his first mistake. Bret hoped
it wasn’t a ruse to make him make a bigger mistake - or something even
worse.
Finally sleep
overtook them, Bret was the last to submit to this, for to him even sleep
was a little bit too close to death. He knew there would be plenty of sleep
in store, in the not too distant future, if things continued to go as they
were.
~
16/1
Just before dawn Bret woke, checked
the time and found it to be six. Briefly he struggled to wake Melissa,
it was time for her to return to her own bed, before they got up for the
long day of doing nothing. It was these long days that wore upon them,
Bret had to admit it was very clever psychologically. Even knowing the
reason for their treatment, he was damned if he knew what the answer to
it could be.
“I’ll talk to
you in a while.” Bret farewelled her.
Six thirty was
their usual time to arise, so it wouldn’t be long at all. Bret semi dozed
till it was time to get up, and it did seem like no time at all passed.
Today he supposed
would be like any other, his knowledge of the routine though brief was
complete. First they were roused, those who had serious enough injuries
were checked by a slightly more intelligent grunt, and if help was needed
Dr Adams was summoned. For the first few days they had included him in
this routine, but since his injuries were healing nicely they left him
to his own devices. Melissa was checked without fail each morning, while
he was left to gather his things for the weekly cold shower.
Being a hospital prison, they were given the necessities to prevent their
conditions worsening, unlike the other cell, where the criminals were given
only just enough to keep them alive. Those less fortunates were only allowed
the luxury of being aware of the punishment, that they were being apportioned.
Bret didn’t
resist the ritual of the shower, nor did he try to shield himself from
the rest of the inmates. The shower was at the end of the room, totally
exposed, and fed by some sort of time limited supply. There was five minutes
worth of cold water and that was it, they were told to consider it a privilege.
Melissa did hint that there was a hierarchy in this place that ruled the
towel supply, to buck the system was to have them remove your towel. It
seemed so pathetic, but that was what their lives had come to.
In the midst of his frantic movements
to shower, he considered how different this new existence was, and yet
it could be worse - he could be dead. Making his ritual motions, coming
to be cleaner than before the shower, the flow of water ended on cue. Swiftly
he partially dried himself and quickly withdrew to his bed, where he completed
the act of drying. Re-clothed, he watched the next allocated person go
through the same motions as he just had, it was a young woman with a nasty
gash on her upper thigh, he knew this, because as he, she didn’t try to
hide her nakedness. Everything in this place was designed to either deprive,
punish, or humiliate the inmate, designed by a cruel and vindictive mind.
Apart from idle glances everyone ignored the girl, as they had him, for
to show courtesy, would mean the same being afforded to them later.
The ratio of
inmates was weighted to the women, echoing what Alexia had said, and slowly
Bret was beginning to believe her statement. If there were more women left
than men then, what were the ratios, was it two to one; five, ten...?
His train of thought was halted as Melissa reappeared, looking ruffled,
but none the worse for the wear, she plonked herself down beside him.
“God I don’t
think I’ll be able to survive the time between now and when the kid is
born, they prod and delve into his most private places with only one concern
- that of unravelling how the hell I conceived.”
“Well that’s
easy,” he tried to lighten her mood, “in an age old method, I’m sure you’ve
heard of it...”
“It’s no joke,”
she cut him off, “I wouldn’t talk too loudly about your involvement either,
they’re as likely as not to dissect you, to try and find out how you were
responsible for the miracle.”
“Yeah, but if
they do that, they will have lost the only captive specimen that can procreate.”
he countered.
“Yeah but that
doesn’t seem to matter, Montgomery is dead set on solving the mystery.
He reckons if he can do it, he’ll become all powerful by controlling people
- the ruler of the country, maybe even the planet, of course he’s mad...”
In the following
silence, Bret tried to figure out his actions. Should he press the point
that he was the father of Melissa’s child, did Andrew remember, or hear
of it? Could he prevent his pointless execution, or would it lead
to nothing more than a gruesome dissection, as Melissa said? All
that he could decide was, to remain quiet on the subject and to stay put
- this had to be the best bet. At the right time, like when it looked as
if his execution was imminent - then it would be the time to put the fox
amongst the pigeons. He figured this could be done by floating a series
of theories and statements, that would need a reasonable amount of time
to assimilate. In the end it came down to playing for time, stretching
out his life, waiting for a rescue that would never come.
The rest of
the day was now their, and with nothing physical or mental to do, boredom
wasn’t far away. It took about an hour of this, to make him start thinking
of distractions.
“Do they have
access to a pen and paper?”
“Yeah I think
so, but only a limited amount of either. What do you want them for - going
to start a diary?”
“Nah, there’s
nothing in here worth recording, but a deck of cards wouldn’t go amiss
would it?”
Melissa looked interested, “Haven’t
had a game of cards for years and years, but how is a pen and paper going
to help?”
“Well smarty,
I was going to write out a deck and cut the paper up - sound okay to you?”
she didn’t answer him, going instead to get the implements - posthaste.
In about three minutes flat she was back, armed with a black ball point
pen, and half a dozen pieces of shabby paper. “That was quick, what about
a pair of scissors?”
“Give me a break,
it was all that I could do to convince them to give me a pen - no sharp
implements, but I smiled sweetly at the guy in charge.”
Bret dismissed
the lack of materials, and concentrated on dividing the paper they had
into fifty two. Having achieved this, he then folded along the divisions
and tore the bits apart, numbering them accordingly - they had their pack
of cards. The small pile of paper looked as pitiful as it really was, but
it promised an escape from the nothingness that lay around them. Shuffling
the pieces of paper, he smiled at the slip up the grunts had made, and
wondered who would pay for this break of suppression, once some one of
the upper echelon found them enjoying themselves.
“So what’s your
poison?”
“I don’t know,
what it was called, the one with the black queen of clubs and you had to
pick up cards when a two or something was put down by the other person...
do you know the game I mean?”
With a smile he nodded, “Yeah it
was called black bitch,” and before she hit him he continued, “it was a
derivation of last card. I’ll deal a trial hand, it’s pretty easy, you’ll
remember it soon I bet...” he filled her in as he dealt out the pieces
of paper.
Bret was right
about her picking it up again fast, in fact, she was better at the game
than him, by far - some thing to do about luck, while she declared it all
to do with skill. They played this game for about an hour or so, then tiring
of it, searched for an alternative. During this time he noticed they were
not alone in their interest of the game, there were a fair number of onlookers
watching wistfully. Seeing the interest being generated by just a number
of pieces of paper, he realised what a chance lay here for him to break
the stony walls of silence, that had been imposed on them.
“Anyone else
want a game?” he made the offer.
The girl he
had noticed previously rose to her feet, he thought her about to turn her
back on them, but she surprised him by limping forwards to become seated
beside him on the bed.
“Hi my name’s
Liz, what are you going to play?”
It was a good
question, he searched his memory for a game that allowed them to have more
numbers.
“How about euka,
that’s a game that’ll get us through to lunch time.”
“Fine with me.”
Liz agreed.
“You’ll have
to show me how to play,” Melissa added, “I’ve played it before, but I don’t
remember much - something about jacks and the like, is that right?”
“Yeah, if you
can remember that you’re not going to have much trouble getting back into
it, here I’ll be your partner...” Liz offered.
They swapped
a few rules and questions, while he tried to entice another member to their
card sharks circle. A few other people had been bold enough to approach
his bed, but they kept a safe distance all the same. No one seemed all
that interested in being his partner, had they heard of his card playing
abilities already? The young guy he’d had the tussle with earlier
made a few threatening noises through his clamped jaw. Seeing the lack
of effect he then wandered off, to sulk in a corner of the room.
“Good riddance!” Bret muttered
under his breath, they didn’t need the likes of him with them. This comment
worked far better than his temptation at playing the game, another woman
stepped from the number of anonymous faces.
“I’ll be your
partner, anyone who hates scum like him can’t be all that bad!” she stuck
out her hand, “Name’s Linnette, his friends call
me Linny, or just plain Lin.”
As they shook
hands he told her his name, then the names of the others at the bed - or
should he say table. She already knew Liz, apparently quite well. The spectators,
of which there were still about six, despite their lack of enthusiasm stayed
to watch. Bret wasn’t sure if it was fear of the repercussions, or just
plain shyness that kept them from partaking.
The hands went
round, and as they did their spartan conversation grew as they became acquainted
with each other. This was exactly the break he had been looking for, things
would never be the same, their isolation broken for sure. During the course
of the next couple of hours they became aware of who these people were,
how they had become injured, what they had done to be incarcerated here.
When it became Melissa’s and his turn to tell the tale he found the others
already knew the reason for their incarceration, and the tale surprised
him - in its inventiveness, if nothing else. As the story went, Melissa
was a traitor, she had betrayed the group to another for the sole purpose
of becoming a leader herself. Melissa, if the story was to be believed,
wanted to enslave everyone in the camp, and with the aid of her husband,
rule over the country side like feudal barons had done in years gone by.
Melissa then
told her side of the story, and the others were surprised by the differences
between her’s and Montgomery’s. Bret could see their new acquaintances
swaying, sitting in the balance, uncertain who to really believe.
“So why are
you here?” Liz asked, “you’ve been here for several weeks now, and though
you’ve got that bullet crease mark on your forehead, you don’t seem to
belong here. I’ve seen you go to the showers, sorry but we all look despite
ourselves, any way, you look to be one of the healthiest people here, so
how come you’re still here?”
“That’s easy
to explain,” Melissa started, turning to him for advice, “should I tell
them?”
The others looked
at him then, sensing there to be a tie up between them, something that
spoke of a closer bond than just acquaintances in a prison.
“Yeah why not,
it may persuade them were’re telling the truth.”
“Okay, well
it’s like this,” she took a breath as if still not believing it herself,
“I’m pregnant!”
If there had
been a show stopper this was it, the other girls looked dumb founded then
pleased, not only for Melissa but for themselves.
“That bastard
Montgomery said no one could have children any more, not without his aid
- whatever that means. So how did you do it?” and then more delicately,
“Your husband’s?”
Melissa looked
slightly confused for a moment, was Bret her husband? “You’ll have to hear
Bret’s side of the story to really appreciate what has gone on before,
but I suppose it was done in the old traditional way,” she smiled at the
statement he had tried to make earlier, then continued, “and yes it was
my husband’s.” she held out a hand to take Bret’s, a frightening look invading
the depths of her eyes.
The game of cards had taken a back
seat, but before they could get on to the subject of him, dinner was called,
to hesitate would be to miss out. Scrabbling round the pot they armed themselves
with dishes, plastic cutlery - since they weren’t allowed anything metal,
and of course a large dollop of something that could only be loosely deemed
food. The administrator of the food, or in other words, the person who
dished it out today was an old woman, and to judge her by her appearance,
none of them deserved to eat a bite. Returning to his bed, the conversation
carried on as if there had never been an interruption.
“So what’s your
story Bret?” the others wanted to know.
“Well it all
started when I ran into this Boy...” so he retold an edited version of
the highlights of his adventures, up to the point where he had been captured.
Using the highlight technique, he managed to impart this information between
mouthfuls in a mere five minutes. The others listened intensely, not interrupting
once. “... and so that’s it, nothing really, I’m just biding my time till
Andrew can find a showy way to execute me.” so he let them draw their own
conclusions, and believe what they wanted.
Liz and Lin
like him had finished their lunch, yet they remained frozen, staring at
him, so he returned the gaze that he thought to be growing stonier by the
moment.
“You must be
the evil criminal, that Montgomery announced he single handedly had captured.
He did mention a court martial, but I didn’t really take much notice -
in here it’s hard to raise an interest in anything, least of all an execution!”
Lin gave an audible grunt of disgust after this statement, turning to where
the guards rested. Finding them out of hearing she continued. “Quite frankly
I don’t care if you’re Godzillar’s mother, as long as you’re an enemy of
Montgomery’s, and if half what you say is true, then I’m with you - two
hundred and fifty percent.” she stopped and motioned Liz to have a say.
“I don’t know
about this Montgomery fan club, but do you think there could be a spare
place in this community of yours?”
“It’s not his
community, it just seems that I’ve become one of the group’s representatives...”
“Isn’t that
the best type, one chosen by the people!” Lin interrupted.
“I guess, but
to return to the original question, anyone who is sincere in their wishes
to become a contributing member of their group, is welcome. They’re not
hell raisers, social innovators, nor geniuses, but we’ve got a chance at
a good life, as long as no one tries to steal away their assets!”
They talked
about some of the group’s, his group’s assets, but he didn’t give them
anything more than vague ideas as to its capabilities - once bitten twice
shy I suppose.
“So that explains
the hair cuts then?” Liz changed the subject.
“Yeah, we’ve
been marked, me as having a child, and Bret here for death - nice huh!”
sarcasm dripped from Melissa’s short statement.
“So do you think
there’s any way out of here?” Bret brought the hidden subject out into
the open.
They all must
have had thoughts on the subject, it shocked them though to hear it said
out loud.
“You sure get
to the point quick,” Lin aired, “well, I’ve been a resident here on and
off for a year. Never in any position other than
prisoner and I’m still here, security is one of this place’s strong points.”
“Is that a yes
or no then?”
“Personally
speaking, I wouldn’t give you odds of one in ten of succeeding in a break
out, but then again that’s just my opinion.”
“Liz?” he turned
the question to her.
“Hmm, escape
this place, I’ve dreamt of it, hmm,” then shaking her head, “sorry, but
I have to agree with Lin, and if they caught you, they’d string you up
like a Christmas turkey, make you an example for the others, just like...
you...”
Bret nodded
to her that he understood, and that she hadn’t meant to remind him of his
fate. “How would you do it if you were to attempt it - anyway?”
“You’re not
considering trying are you?” she answered his question with another.
“What have I
got to lose!” he saw this as his only way of getting what he wanted out
of life - like a life. Being held here with a death sentence hanging over
his head, for no matter how long, wasn’t what he considered to be really
living, just a living hell. Changing the subject, he tried to get a handle
on one of the things that had been bugging him, either consciously or subconsciously.
“Have either of you had contact with Montgomery?”
Liz took the
impetuous of the conversation on herself, acting as mediator, while Lin
stood as a reference. “None of us get to meet Montgomery unless it’s a
matter of discipline - like life or death, only a few of the select know
his identity. There’s a rumour and I have a tendency to believe it, that
he has another name and identity he uses to get around the community. So
the story goes, and its only rumour, he works amongst us and roots out
the trouble makers, any one who contemplates trying to get out, or start
a revolution in this place. In the past year or so, I know of at least
five people have mysteriously become enemies of the state, meeting with
either banishment or death...” she shuddered at this hidden factor. “So
to answer your initial question, no I haven’t, but maybe I have.”
“That explains
a lot,” Bret mused, facing Melissa, “that explains why none of you girls
recognised Andrew when we had that initial tussle,
and then later when he joined us at Westex.”
Melissa uttered several inventive
expletives about his heritage, and where he could go in the future.
“You’d better
not be heard saying that,” Lin broke her silence, “Montgomery’s really
hot on keeping us prisoners in line, and one of the decrees is - and these
are his words, No profanities from the working class, about the ruling
class will be tolerated. He wants and demands respect, not that he deserves
it, but he demands it all the same, anyway he might be amongst us at the
moment...”
Bret interrupted
her here, “No, I know his identity, I know of him as Andrew as well as
Montgomery...” and before he’d finished the sentence, realised the truth
of the fragile nature of his existence.
“Phrased like
that, I can see that you really have to make an attempt at escaping. He’s
not going to let you hang around all that long is he?” Lin comments, prompting
Liz to make a stand.
“Yeah, and as
much as I think trying to escape is another word for suicide, I have to
agree. I’ll have a word to a few of the others that I really trust, see
if there isn’t some weak point in this place. We’ll have to use this as
the point to break from, no matter how small an advantage it may give!”
“What’s this
we business?” Bret asked Liz.
“You don’t think
I’m going to let you escape, while we stay stuck in this dump do you?”
Bret really
didn’t know what to say or think, she could be an agent herself, or she
might be one of the people Robin and others had wished to rescue. If she
was even half what she appeared to be, she would be a welcome addition
to their group in Westex. Leading on from this, he knew they had to escape
from here as soon as possible, Westex was in danger of being raided and
broken up, and of all the things, even his death, this factor overshadowed
the lot. His life or death didn’t matter now, but a community had been
started, a real community, with people having the skills and temperament
needed.
To say that
he didn’t care for his own life would be a lie, but his concern for those
that he had been separated from, seemed to have a greater hold on him -
occupying his thoughts the most. The images of Robin, Helen, Michael, Kate,
Jane and all the others were strongly entwined with what he saw as life.
Losing his life would be preferable to losing them. To live without Robin
and the others, if this were his new life, it would be nothing more than
a living death. So doubled and redoubled came the reasons he had to make
a break from this place, no matter the consequences.
“Bret, are you
okay?” Melissa broke his silence, concerned at sudden quietness.
Bret found a
close knit group waiting for him to accept a plan, the instigation of the
idea, that they make a break from this place.
“Sorry, I was
just thinking of the folk at Westex, it’s a great place, full of good people,
and it’s got a future. I’ve got to try and warn them about Andrew / Montgomery
before he tries to destroy them. Sorry, but I’ve just got to try...” he
was talking in circles now, thus they glimpsed the concern and determination
building within him.
“So who’s the
leader of this Westex place, do you think they’ll back you up when you
arrive?”
Bret smiled at Liz, “The leader
of the place is a number of people, a delegation representing everyone,
and there’s a guy called the Sheriff, that they’ve made a symbol of the
community’s direction.”
“Yeah I’ve heard
of him, supposed to be a real mean bastard, drives round in a tank and
kills everyone who opposes him. I heard he was their equivalent of Montgomery.”
“No that’s completely
false, he drives round in a Porsche, and has only had a couple of altercations,
one being a brush with a group that were wandering round his territory,
killing and raping people at random. I think the community is the real
issue, but it’s the symbol that is associated with him that will draw the
right people to the group.”
“So how come
you know so much about what this Sheriff is going to do?” Melissa asked
the question, that the others were too polite to ask.
“Well to be
perfectly honest, and you must swear that you won’t tell any one else...”
he paused to receive an affirmation to this oath, “well the identity of
the Sheriff, well he is me.”
Bret couldn’t
have done better than if he’d said he was pregnant. A shocked silence settled
on his three compatriots, it took several minutes before the next statement
came from Liz.
“And Montgomery
knows you’re the Sheriff?”
“Yeah of course,
he was one of the ones who started the legend.”
“A bit of a
coincidence don’t you think?”
Bret turned
to Lin, because she was on to something. “Meaning?”
“He helped set
you up, gave your community a key figure, made your group identifiable
to the others in the country. But he was there for his own goals not yours,
so he must have had something in mind from the very start. Did he do anything
else while he was down there, that might give they a clue as to what he
is planning?”
From here Bret
gave them an in depth version of the time that Andrew was with them. In
retelling their history, he did stumble across a few ideas. The other gang
that he’d visited had broken up under their own duress, or had they. Thinking
about it now, it was more likely that Andrew had sparked the split, then
talked them into joining the Westex group. He’d stopped any reconciliation
dead in its tracks, by leading them to believe the group in the mall to
be the wandering gang, rather than members of the group he’d been with.
They’d tangled with these people and killed them of course, just as he
had wished. He’d talked to Ken and the others quite a bit too, Bret wondered
now if he hadn’t been trying to get them to come back and join also. It
all pointed to the idea, that he was trying to set up another group. Bret
had this funny idea he was going to destroy it and its credibility, taking
the people there as new workers. It would be a real coup, Montgomery would
be the man who had defeated the Sheriff, meaning his gang was one of the
strongest in the country, and others should join his rather than trying
to form their own community. And secondly, a consequence of his actions,
he could bolster the ranks of his work force by thirty to forty good people,
most of them young women - as for the rest, Bret could only shudder at
their fate.
A probability
also, was that Montgomery would take over the hall and the surrounding
complex for himself, rather than Bret’s earlier thought, that it would
be destroyed out of hand. Sure this was about revenge, but there appeared
to be deeper motives to the actions, a tyrannical under current, of a would
be King. Installed in their home, the hall, Andrew and his most favoured
companions would share the booty while the others would remain in Franktown,
to manage that area. A prison would have to be instigated in Westex, to
enable them to take charge of that area, as in Franktown, but by then there
would be enough numbers to maintain such things.
Armed with at
least a hundred and fifty people, the tank and whatever weapons were captured
from the Westex group, Montgomery would be almost unstoppable, the new
ruler of the country. From here, Bret was sure that there would be no stopping
him - as for democracy, it would become just a memory. Law and order would
die with a crowning, in fact it would be worse that it had been for the
last hundred or so years, the dark ages were looming high on the horizon
again.
Bret aired these
thoughts at the end of his oratory, and by the expressions of the faces
of the girls, he could see that the ideas frightened them as much as they
did him. Men and women, those lower in the order of things would become
servants if they were lucky, and if not they would be mere objects, sold,
used and discarded when of no further use. Most likely men would become
labourers and soldiers, women, house keepers and sex slaves...
The card game,
and their discussions were broken up by the approach of a guard.
“What do you
think you’re doing here, the lot of you?” by his manner none of them were
considered to have any value.
The group dispersed
without a word. Alone again with just Melissa for company, Bret thought
what a success the card idea had been. They had made contact with a number
of interesting people, the associations were uncertain for sure, but at
least he had something to work towards now. He likened the feeling to that
people had experience before the sickness, in buying a lottery ticket,
it gave the illusion of hope and escape - in his case the escape was from
death.
From here life
returned to the ordinary grind, and Bret still held all the cards, well
the ones he’d made anyway. Melissa partook in a lot of games with him,
of every game they could remember, but even then the boredom crept in amongst
their best endeavours.
~
19/1
It must have been at least two or so
days, before Bret had again a chance to speak with either Lin or Liz.
The first opportunity came quite by chance, as they were taking their tea,
he sat near to the serving area and hoped that some one would see the opportunity.
Liz indeed did
take up the unspoken invitation, waving away Lin and Melissa as they approached
they, intent on joining also. This was the correct thing to do, for gatherings
of more than two were frowned upon by their jailors at most times, since
crowds spoke of meetings, and meetings spelt trouble. This was both right
and wrong, a crowd could indicate a distraction from the monotony of this
existence, or a plotting of a riot - but here it would be easily squashed.
A small meeting or conspiracy of two could be just as dangerous, and hard
to stop until detected, Liz and Bret were going to enter into the conspiracy
business, he hoped it flourished. Bret found the situation ironic, because
he was planning to do to Andrew what he had done to him. Bret didn’t feel
all that confident in succeeding though, the chances of him being blind
to the ploy were slim.
“So how’s it
been?” he started the conversation on a normal note.
Typically a
nosy guard loitered inside ear shot and pretended to be invisible, but
it didn’t work very well.
“Same old boring
stuff as usual, I wish we could make more sets of cards, but they’ve withdrawn
all the paper and writing utensils after your last trick, it’s a shame
really...” sticking to the long and narrow path that the guards had been
instructed to keep they upon.
The wearisome
conversation had to be kept going for five and more minutes, and just as
he thought the eaves dropper would never leave he did. They kept their
voices at the same level and tone, all that changed was the content the
words spoke of.
“Had any luck?”
Liz clinked
her plate noisily, trying to scoop up the very last traces of her meagre
portion, she’d been making it last till now, giving them a reason to be
together without raising suspicion. “I spoke to a few of the others, I
hinted that it was me who wanted to escape - leaving your part well out
of it.” she waited for his approval and got it. “From what I can make out,
there might be a chink in their armour, not a very big one, but a possibility...”
“So!” he interrupted,
but it didn’t help speed up the resolution of the weakness.
“Okay, it’s
a dangerous plan, but all I can think of at the moment. The place is always
manned by at least four plus guards during the day, and outside there are
at least three or four patrols, of two people, on the prowl. From this
we figure the best time for action is at night, when the odds are a bit
better. At night as you have probably noticed there are only two baby sitters,
and from my information, outside there is only one patrol of two men. If
we could overpower the guards in here, then sneak out and over the wall,
we’d be home free. It would take them till the morning to figure out they
were down in numbers... and that’s the catch...” she stopped to check that
they weren’t being watched.
“Go on, it sounds
marginal so far.”
“It’s just the
mentality of this Montgomery guy, those that are left are likely to get
a pretty hard time, being interrogated and the like. He seems very keen
on making an example of someone, especially when something happens he thinks
threatens his position of power. The plan relies on a small group making
the break and getting away undetected. Those who stay might not like the
idea of being left behind, and either try to escape too, which will ruin
the plan, or blow the whistle on us. The young guy that’s in here because
of you, he’d blow the whistle without a second’s hesitation. He’d get out
of here for one, and get even with you for another. I’m sure that there
are several others in that situation, since this isn’t the maximum security
prison, it’s a prison all right, but not a torture house like the other
one.” She took a deep breath then, as if coming to the conclusion of the
discussion, not liking it herself.
“Go on.” he
prompted her, while they still had time.
“So it comes
down to this, to succeed they have to keep the escape group to about four
or five people, and take the chance at being over powered - it has to be
our best shot!”
“Have you figured
out just how they are going to do it?” The plan was simple and yet effective,
but the details of just how they were going to accomplish the overpowering
of the guards, and the slipping from the enclosure troubled him, by their
lack of mention.
“Almost, Lin
has a loose board in her bed, we can use that as a fairly lethal weapon,
it’s got two rusty six inch nails protruding from one end, and a cracked
part that’s shaped like a handle. I’m sure a guy of your size could swing
it around pretty good.”
Bret wasn’t
completely convinced at this, but he skipped this part and asked of the
next step. “The door out of here is kept locked, so who holds the keys?”
keeping it short, implying by the statement - how are they going to find
out who will be holdings the keys. Lin interpreted the statement correctly,
and followed on with her analysis of the escape.
“Yeah it’s a
bit of a snag that, they guards are locked in here with us for the night
generally, and there’s one guy amongst them who’s got a key. Apparently
one of their guards doesn’t like being locked in here, and is prone to
take a walk late at night - often at about three in the morning. I think
he getting a bit from one of the female staff, but I’m not sure where.
Anyway that’s the weak link of the system, he will want out at some time,
and that will be when we should make our break. The rest of the group think
because we’re locked in here with the guards that there’s no possibility
of escape, and so aren’t looking for it. If they can either nobble him,
or get out after he does, well they should have an even chance.”
“What about
the wall, it’s bloody high...” but before they could finish the conversation,
they were broken up by the guard that had been listening initially.
“That’s enough
gossip from you two, return your dishes, clean ’em up and go back to your
bunks,” they hesitated, trying to complete the discussion, but he was having
none of that, “I said now!”
Forced to do
as commanded, they trudged to the washing facilities, but Liz hadn’t given
up completing the discussion. Stacking their dishes in their respective
places, she managed to utter one word, as they crossed paths to go to their
respective destinations.
“Jump...” and
that’s all she had time for.
This single
word told him of her plan, it allowed for nothing but success, and once
they had managed the impossible of escaping, they would be faced with a
new enemy - time. The word jump said to him that they would have to climb
the wall and jump, and trust to lady luck for the outcome. To do this they
would have to have both arms free, so they could carry nothing, leading
to the inevitable, they would have nothing on the other side of the wall.
The idea scared him just a little, to be completely without anything -
out in the wild. Bret had not faced such a situation since the sickness
left him stranded in the country, in a car with no petrol. In the times
since that incident, he had always tried to carry a weapon of some description,
and a small amount of food had always been available.
To face the
unknown with nothing was pretty scary, even weighed against the fact of
his impending death. For a second he could imagine no reason why someone
in Liz’s position would wish to do the same. His sense of betrayal flared
again, but he realised they had no choice but to trust her - because she
was his only hope.
Having parted
company, Bret returned to his bunk where Melissa was waiting. Sitting beside
her he wondered why the guards let him talk so freely to her, then again
it seemed that every one was allowed to pair up with at least one other
person without question. He supposed from this it gave them another weapon,
the threat to take this one privilege away from any dissidents, hostages
within a group of hostages. The other factor to be considered was the possibility
of offspring from a male - female association, any two people might hold
the answer within them, just as Melissa and himself.
“What did she
have to say?” Melissa got straight to the point.
“We’re on...”
he repeated the detail of Liz’s plan.
“I don’t know
if I like it.” she agreed with his prognosis.
“Yeah but what
choice do we have?”
“None I suppose,
so when do we go?”
Thinking on
the word when, he hadn’t really considered a time scale, or for that matter
who was going. The answer to when had to be soon, before Montgomery had
his little display at Bret’s expense, and started off for Westex. As for
who, he had always assumed Melissa would come, but carrying a child and
all, even at this early stage, would she be safe to do so?
“There’s only
going to be four or five of us going, are you sure you’re feeling up to
it?” he patted her stomach to highlight his point.
“That’s not
the point, I rather risk the child than have it born into this place -
it would be like being born into slavery, or worse. And the other thing,
I’m sure as hell not going to become the stud mare for Montgomery or whoever,
for the rest of his life. He’s just got that sort of egotistical type manner,
he’d not want his family name dying out, and I have no intention of giving
him heirs!”
Momentarily
her voice rose above normal levels, Bret had to put a hand over her mouth
to avoid their discussion attracting unwanted attention. Letting his hand
slip away, he realised just how she felt about being here, and knew that
she had made a good analogy of the situation. Her life here was being set
in concrete even now, being left alone was only a temporary thing, till
the baby was born, then there would be an endless procession of fathers
tried upon her, to see if another child might be made. This would not be
a pleasurable experience, there would be no choice, no love - it would
be an endless life of torture, an endless cycle of rape with no way out.
Shrinking from
the thoughts of such a life, he counted Melissa in, she had to escape this
place as much as he did, maybe even more, for at least his torture, his
end, it would be quick compared to her’s. Bret was sure that the first
to try and perpetuate his lineage would be Andrew, and the only thing that
did make him want to smile through all this, was the thought that Andrew
might not be able to maintain his family name. Bret was sure he would be
furious to discover that he was sterile, and he idly wondered who he would
be punished for this crime.
~
29/3
The plan became the centre of their
lives - becoming a promise of an escape from this nightmare of a place,
and the torture that awaited. They were left alone during this time, Bret
had no idea why he hadn’t been made an example of, as promised, and why
Montgomery had not charged off into the sunset, brandishing a sword to
conquer Westex. The only thing he could hope, that it was connected to
trouble - for Montgomery. As the weeks dragged by, they planned, watched
and waited. The escape party remained confined to Lin, Liz, Melissa and
Bret, for really they didn’t know, nor could they trust the others with
such an action. The plan remained unaltered, and the only thing that prevented
they from implementing it straight away, was the lack of the key element,
the night walking guard. They bided their time in wait, existing as they
were told, living a life of endless boredom.
The monotony
of the place started to get to Bret, and despite the company of Lin, Liz
and even Melissa, he found it increasingly difficult to remain cheerful.
He rationalised his disillusioned condition to the fact of his impending
death sentence, not knowing when it might spring upon him, and having a
total lack of freedom as he had been used to. He marvelled at how the girls
managed to keep on without falling into depression, for they had been in
here considerably longer than he.
“When was the
last time you saw this night roaming guy?” he tried to give himself a glimmer
of hope, at escaping this place.
“Hasn’t been
for a while.” Melissa admitted, and with this fell silent, as if contemplating
the exact time scale of things.
Assessing the
condition of their resources, their mental readiness, Bret rose from the
bed and wandered down to the general facilities. This action would be the
highlight of his afternoon, going to the toilet and splashing a bit of
water at himself. He took his time, under the general monitor of most of
the others here, for any activity was a source of interest. Having completed
his tasks, he wandered back, but was stopped by the sound of gun fire,
it sounded quite close. Instead of returning to bed, his curiosity drove
him to look out the barred window. He couldn’t see anything for his trouble,
but way in the distance the gun fire continued unabated. His flaunting
of the rules would have been met with severe action, if it hadn’t been
for the interruption of a panic driven youth. He burst into the room and
roused their guards.
“We’re under
attack!” then turning smartly on his heels, threw over his shoulder, “You’re
to come immediately, leave the prisoners, this is serious...” with this
he dashed back out the door, leaving it wide open, for the others to follow.
In the following
mayhem they the prisoners were left unmonitored. Bret went over to Liz
and gave her a hard look, then with the motion of his head, beckoned her
to follow him to where Melissa and Lin had already gathered.
“This has to
be a good chance...” he began.
“Could it be
the others?” Melissa broke in excitedly.
“Might be, but
from what Andrew was saying, they don’t know that we’re still alive - well
they don’t know if I’m still alive should I say.”
“Yeah, but if
Jane even had the slightest feeling that I or you might still alive, she’d
not rest for any thing or anybody!”
“I know, she
showed me that quite clearly the morning we made our first raid on this
place. In a way I hope it is them, and then again I don’t.”
“Why?” Liz broke
in upon their conversation.
“Well these
mad bastards don’t give a toss about who they kill, it’s a matter of kill
or be killed. With an attitude like that, our lot are libel to lose quite
a few in a raid on this place - especially without the element of surprise
on their side. But this is getting away from the point, we’ve got a good
chance here, in the confusion we might be able to break out and get clean
away, if we’re lucky. What do you say?” it was a long shot, but a chance
nonetheless.
“We’ve got to
be careful if we do.” Lin, the cautious one of their quartet mused.
The bland statement
stopped them in their tracks for a minute, each were held silent by the
thoughts of what they had to gain - and lose with the attempt.
“Okay we’ll
have a vote, if you want to stay, hold up your hand...” and he waited for
the vote to be caste.
Despite Lin’s
statement, none held up a hand, it was a unanimous decision. To be alive
here was pretty close to being dead out there - so what did they have to
lose?
“Okay that’s
sorted that out, shall we bother to take anything with us?”
“Food.” Liz
aired a thought.
“Warm clothing.”
Lin the ever practical one added.
“A weapon.”
Melissa the warrior wished.
To these he
just nodded, “Get what you can, but make it fast, I’m going to take Lin’s
bed apart to get the board, then its break out time, ready or not!”
The rest of
the prisoners watched their tiny group split up, and frantically start
assembling items. The young upstart of a guy came up to Bret, while he
was in the process of wrecking the bed.
“You’ll never
get away from this lot, they’ll gun you down before you get a dozen paces
from the door...” and by the look on his face, he approved of the idea.
“Are you going
to try and stop me?” Bret questioned him, with the intent of fixing him
if he did try.
“Nah, I hate
your guts real bad, it’s going to be good to be rid of your stench in here...”
and with that he turned and walked away, satisfied that Bret’s death was
nothing but a formality, and that he didn’t have to lift a finger to be
rid of him.
There were several
others who looked upon them with questions in their eyes, but Bret didn’t
have time to consider them, as either threats or accomplices. Having retrieved
the plank from what had used to be Lin’s bed, he approached the door, it
had been latched closed and pad locked from the outside, but as they knew,
this action was merely symbolic. Without breaking his stride, he shoved
the plank between the edge of the door and the frame, heaving with all
his might. The door gave way, with a noise he was certain no one could
have missed hearing. His shoulder ached with the effort, but he blocked
the pain from his mind, there would be plenty of time for that later -
if he lived. Short galvanised nails shone at him as the wooden door parted,
but the door still remained an obstacle. Pressing his attack, he wedged
the plank into a different position and heaved again, this time the plank
gave a loud crack and splintered in his hands. For a second Bret was lost
for words or action, then the rest of his team were with him, ready to
make their escape a reality.
“Quick get in
behind me, and give this a shove - quick!”
They put their
shoulders to the door, wrestling with it unsuccessfully for a time. Then
with one last supreme effort they pushed at the door, and miraculously
it collapsed, barring them no more - they were at last free!
“Which way?”
Bret asked.
“We’ve got to
get to the east wall!” Liz swarmed passed him, and with a last quick backwards
glance sprinted off to the left side of the prefab. Lin followed her, as
did Melissa, which left just him, and so with a deep breath he joined the
escape.
There weren’t
many people hanging around, for there was a concerted effort being made
at the main gate, to repel whoever it was that was trying to invade the
fort. There was no sign of the guards that had been watching over them,
which Bret took to mean that the attack was a serious threat. As the sounds
of conflict surrounded them they turned the corner of the prefab, making
their way in the opposite direction to the assault. There had been no people
in the immediate area as they left their prison, at the rear of the prefab
initially the trend continued. As luck would have it there were several
sentries at post on the fence, one at every twenty odd metres to be exact.
This posed a new problem, for it would be difficult to reach the fence
without being seen, let alone missing their exit and escape from the fortress.
Despite the
hopelessness of the situation they pressed on, making as little noise as
possible, hugging the wall or whatever cover they could find. The sentries
didn’t pay them any attention, concentrating on the ground that lay ahead
of them, they weren’t going to be surprised by any sneak double forked
attacks, as they had been in the last times. This gave the escapers the
advantage needed, the sentries hadn’t thought of a two forked attacked,
one of the avenues of attack coming from within. Having at last reached
the wall, they were partly obscured from the sentries sight, by the platforms
they stood upon.
“So how are
we going to get rid of him?” Lin whispered, while pointing to the armed
sentry approximately ten metres away.
“We need some
sort of knife, or throwing weapon...” he motioned at killing at a distance.
“Why not just
creep up and shove him from the platform, the railing isn’t very high -
surely it wouldn’t take much.”
For a moment
Bret felt the inclination to tell Liz that she should stop calling him
Shirley, but it wasn’t the time nor the place for idle prattle. “I doubt
if we could creep up on him, without him hearing us.” he confessed.
“I bet I could
do it.” Liz volunteered herself for the job.
Without giving
him the chance to stop her, she dropped her pack, slipped off the thick
jersey she had been wearing and was at it. Dressed in jeans and a thin
dark top, she blended into the surrounding area quite well, and moving
swiftly hardly made a sound. Bret felt she might actually be able to achieve
what she boasted of, if only no one turned idly round, to view how the
battle was going at the gate. Despite her claims he felt the need to try
and follow her lead, act as a back up if things went horribly wrong. Behind
him the others spread out, acting for him as he was acting for Liz.
Liz by this
time had made it to the base of the platform, and was in the action of
climbing up the ladder that led to the top. The platform was in the order
of six meters high, so she would be exposed for a time - this being the
most dangerous part of the plan. Liz was within a metre of the sentry,
by the time Bret reached the foot of the ladder. Since she was experiencing
no difficulties, he decided to stay put, not wishing to attract the attention
of either the sentry mere metres above, or his buddies to either side.
Liz completed her journey undetected,
then with a swift and decisive action reached out, grabbed the sentry’s
rifle and pushed him over the edge. The plan looked to be a complete success,
except as the sentry fell he let out a cry, which abruptly was silenced
as he hit the ground six metres below. The other sentries heard this cry,
firing on reflex.
Liz dropped
a rifle, and with no hesitation jumped after it. Bret had very little time
to catch the rifle and throw it to Lin, before he had to break Liz’s fall.
Bret half caught - half broke her fall with his body, as the bullets continued
to whistle round them, like a swarm of angry bees. Stunned by the impact
of the fall, Liz and he were out of the conflict for several seconds. Lin
took up the fight by herself, by returning fire with vigour, scoring a
hit on one sentry after her third shot. The guys on the platform were sitting
ducks from this angle, luckily they didn’t figure this out, till Lin had
dispatched both of the closest ones.
“You okay?”
he asked Liz, as they untangled themselves.
“Yeah thanks...”
was all she had time for, as she scrambled up the ladder again. “We’ve
got to get out of here now!” she threw over her shoulder.
Bret knew the
time they had won would be only a very small margin, separating either
Andrew or the other attacking gang from their freedom or death. Following
Liz as closely as he could manage, with Lin and Melissa not more than a
couple of steps behind, they began their escape proper. At the top of the
ladder they threw what little gear they had over the edge, and took a couple
of seconds to contemplate the distance to the ground. A figure could be
seen running across the compound, closely followed by several others, one
stopped, knelt and fired. It was time to leave.
Bret helped
Melissa over the edge, then lowering her as far as he could till there
was little option but to let her go. With a nod she signalled that she
was ready, so he released her, and she disappeared from sight. Liz and
Lin had done the same thing, now it was Liz’s turn. Lowering her over the
edge he held her till she nodded, both very aware of the short time that
he would have left to get off the platform, before the racing guys came
within reliable shooting range. Another shot rang out, and this time the
bullet bit into the hand rail he was holding, the impact and resulting
splinters left him slightly dazed. Nevertheless he hefted himself over
the edge, held stubbornly to the railing then let go, to wait any longer
would have been suicide.
Hitting the
ground hard added to his disorientation, and for further precious seconds
he had to wait for his senses to come to grips with where he was. Meanwhile
the others had made a break for the surrounding cover, he could hear them
calling from behind and to the left. Shaking his head he got to his feet
and staggered in the direction of their cries, hoping that there weren’t
any obstacles in the way. He managed to cover a dozen metres before the
gun fire started, dust erupting at his feet, as desperate unaimed shots
rained around him. His staggering gait threw their aim off, he couldn’t
have done better even if his dodging had been intentional.
His sight returned
swiftly, coming back into focus in time with leaden footsteps, his legs
protesting at the sudden use they were getting after all those weeks of
little work, still they managed to carry him from the assault. There were
trees coming up, so gritting his teeth he pressed for their shelter, knowing
that to be relative safety within their confines. A small crest had to
be climbed before he entered the forested area, and as he made the top
of this, a lucky shot bite at him, his right leg buckled. Unceremoniously
he fell down the other side of the rise, in agony, frustrated at having
come so far to be thwarted now.
A flurry of
arms and legs surrounded him as he rolled head first into a large bush,
it didn’t so much stop his flight as in it swallowed him up. There was
a brief flash of stars and a thudding noise as he came to an abrupt stop,
then a huge black nothing reached out and swallowed him up, his last thought
being - I’ve escaped!