Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (42 page)

Ember is looking at the face of a loving father, a sincere and caring man.

“I reiterate that you were not a product of necessity, conceived out of a plan to overthrow the overlords. I would never have used you that way. You came to me and told me what to do. The battle we waged is now almost over. Most of America is uninhabitable, Africa is burning and Asia, well, quite frankly Asia is finished.”

Ember holds her hand to her chest. Her emotions seem tied to his and she feels sorrow on realising the ‘Antihost’ is choked by his words. It is clear that he is building up to some heart-breaking revelation and she feels his anguish.

“Defeat, it seemed, was inevitable, and then you came to me. I understand that you are confused now. I must admit to not being too sure myself but you told me to tell you straight so I will try. As a hybrid – sorry, I hate that word but it’s the one you used. Anyway, as a hybrid you will have access to many of the channelled powers that the Arc Hon possess but you won’t have the restrictions that they operate under. You also gave me instructions on the last push, an event you told me is known in history as the October Massacres.”

Ember holds her breath, even the madness of the situation cannot prepare her for discovering that she is somehow involved in history’s darkest days. What was he saying? That she somehow planned the genocide of whole ethnic group: an event that superseded her birth by decades?

Ember’s mind has flipped into some sort of protection mode, telling her this is crazy, she is being hypnotised or something. He is not her father. She is not some sort of hybrid
thing
! She needs this to stop. She runs at the machine, randomly hitting buttons, shouting at the box.

“Shut up! Shut up! My father is Conrad Jones! I am a normal girl and I WANT TO GO HOME!”

Eventually she manages to hit the right button and the madness stops. She falls to the ground, crying uncontrollably. She wants her daddy to hold her and make it all right. The tears become more intense when the image she wishes to bring to mind is not of Conrad any more, but of Shane Mills.

H.Q

After dumping the helicopter and traipsing through endless fields, Shane and the group of escaped prisoners spot a small farmhouse. The farm is in a secluded part of Northamptonshire, forty miles north of London.

It is the home of the Wilkinson’s, a retired couple who bought it two years ago under the false impression that living off the land in beautiful countryside miles from the nearest city would be a utopia. Jackie, the wife, was bored and tired of the hard work and tedium of the place. She had not told her spouse, Dave as she was embarrassed about it after all the years they had planned their dream retirement. If she’d had the courage to tell him she may have learned he shared her feelings and was also bored to tears. Either way, the boredom was about to end.

“We just need a vehicle and some food,” says Shane. “So we’re in and out of this place like lightning. There may be children, so let’s try to be civil.”

Chamuel laughs at the instructions Shane has delivered. “You mean don’t forget our please and thank yous?”

Shane, still unsure who the little black guy even is, looks him up and down before telling him, “Listen, I didn’t thank you for your help back there and we still haven’t been introduced but I am sure you can appreciate that there is a time and a place for us to get acquainted once we are safe. For now though, I am assuming leadership of our little group and I hope that is okay with you.”

The statement is tinged with overtones of violence. Robert considers warning Shane off confronting Chamuel but is taken back as Chamuel replies.

“Yes, sir, Massa, you is de boss. I just trying to lighten the mood. Sorry me is a bad Chamuel.” Chamuel slaps his own wrist.

Shane accepts this and looks at Robert and Leo, checking if they are okay with his assumption of leadership. Nods from both men reassure him. They find a vantage point while Shane and Chamuel trek across the fields to a small mud track that leads to the Wilkinsons front door.

“So, what? We just gonna knock on de door and hope they offer two rough-looking men the use of their jeep? That’s assuming of course, our pictures aren’t all over the TV by now, what with the Governor telling everybody that we kidnapped him and blew the entire fucking prison up.”

Shane does not respond to Chamuel’s constant yapping. He knows when to react and when not to and has already got the measure of this man… or whatever he is. Chamuel continues regardless, but not until they are in sight of the front door does Shane speak.

“Okay, I will do the talking. You try and concentrate on not freaking the poor people out, tiendes?” Then he rings the bell.

In all the time David and Jackie have lived on the isolated farm they have only heard the doorbell go twice. Once when the Jehovah’s Witnesses came to call on a nice sunny afternoon and then again when a fed-up young man selling frozen fish turned up looking very lost indeed. This time when the bell goes David is watching the news and swearing at the TV about the prison incident.

“That’ll be the fucking Muslims. Al Qaeda or ISIS no doubt. Well, I hope all the liberal bastards who blurt on about Guantanamo and how bad those bastards are treated are happy now.”

Jackie looks at him disapprovingly. She would class herself as one of those “liberal bastards” and she knows David is looking for a debate on the subject but she isn’t in the mood. Although she can’t let his idiotic statement go without some comment.

“How can a breakout in a UK prison have anything to do with the happenings in Guantanamo?”

They hear the doorbell before David can reply. Both look a little worried. The worst thing for David about the isolation of living out here was the fear of been held up and robbed. Still, he goes to the door while Jackie tries to see who it is via the window. David peers through the spy-hole. He can make out two figures, they look fairly rough and one is black. This concerns him. He shouts through the door, “Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m sorry, but we broke down up the hill. It’s my radiator. Could I possibly get a jug of water from you?”

Shane had been planning to case the farm before taking any action. First he wanted to see how many people he was dealing with and then he needed to know if there were any children. He does not want to cause any more stress than needed and, although prepared to take hostages, he really hopes that there were no elderly or youngsters.

It seems rude not to help so David Wilkinson opens the door and then immediately regrets his actions as the two men give him calculated looks; the white guy is particularly fierce-looking. David stutters his words, betraying his anxiety.

“Th… there is an outside tap by the barn. You can use the bucket next to it if ye… you w… want.”

David knows that this is not two innocent travellers and that he needs to play it cool. Problem is, he isn’t cool and both Shane and Chamuel realise this too.

“Thank you, sir. I wondered if you might have a landline we could use as well. I need to call ahead to a garage.” Shane looks past him, noticing a woman standing in the hallway. He estimates they are both mid to late fifties; this should rule out young kids. These people are not typical farmers so he guesses this is their retirement home and he doubts they would have elderly parents here with them. He decides to make a move. David’s heart beats wildly as he feels the strong arms take hold of him, throwing him into his own hallway. Shane does not want to hurt him but this is an emergency.

“How many are in the house?” he shouts at the cowering David

“It is just me and my wife. We have some money upstairs and some jewellery. Take what you want, just don’t hurt us.”

Shane is always surprised how easy it is to make a grown man cry. He does not want to be the bully but he has no respect for victims. Jackie has frozen, scared and angry. Mentally stronger than her husband, she wants to both run away and attack these bastards at the same time but what can her pear-shaped frumpy body do against these men?.

Chamuel orders her to sit down and pulls down the large curtains. He disappears and returns with a couple of belts. Shane drags David to the chair next to his wife and pushes him into his seat. A nod confirms he wants them both tied up and Chamuel expertly complies.

“We will not hurt you. We need your car and the money you so kindly offered.”

It takes around ten minutes in all to commandeer the Wilkinson’s’ Land Rover and six hundred pounds, along with some clean clothes. They secure the couple in the pantry, leaving them gagged and tied up. It would be far safer to kill them both but Chamuel doesn’t even try to convince Shane of this. Calculating that the Wilkinsons will be tied up for three to four hours, Shane is confident they have enough time to find somewhere safe.

From the passenger seat of the Land Rover Shane says, “So Amitiel had a plan for us, somewhere we could hide. Do you know where this is?” Shane is hoping Chamuel is going to show them a secret HQ where he and the others will be able to rest up and plan their next move. Instead he can hear the Arc Hon laugh.

“Are you for fucking real?” says Chamuel from behind the wheel. “There
was
a plan but you decided to do your own thing, remember? So now, instead of utter confusion and chaos masking our escape we have the prison governor, plus Darby and Joan back there, who will be contributing to our notoriety and of course, more importantly, our fame. So in answer to your question: is there is somewhere safe for us to hide? No. Unfortunately David Beckham has more chance of not being recognised by the day’s end.

“We need to use the precious couple of hours that it’ll take for the media and the authorities to put things together, and before your photos are splattered all over the news and before Al Jazeera put out a two-hour special on the life and times of ‘Al Qaeda Bob’ to get us back on track to the original plan.” Chamuel looks at the three men with exasperation. “Luckily for you lot, these Djinn are kinky about underground tunnels and none more so than Simeon himself.”

The men look at Chamuel, waiting for the inevitable long and curse-filled explanation. They get one.

“I always wonder why humans go around questioning how the Egyptians built the pyramids and how did them druids move massive stones all the way across Britain to create Stonehenge? There is always someone who thinks he is on to something that will explain what is really happening and that all is not as it seems. Yet no one, and I mean no one, asks how the fuck did the Victorians build a fifty-mile stretch of underground railway back in 1853, and more to the point, why? I mean, it’s not like there were a heap of cars causing congestion. In fact, there were six. So, why build an underground? There wasn’t even any fucking electricity worth utilising that could run a train down there and if you’re going to tell me they had steam trains underground, forget it! No, this was Simeon’s doing. I have to ask myself, is there a conspiracy theorist that deserves the name when they miss things so obvious? With all the technology and know-how you have nowadays, you would still struggle to complete such a task. So let me explain, Simeon was pulling all the strings during the time of the British Empire. He was the king-maker and the builder of Great Britain. Like all good Djinn, he has his own fetish. Isaac loved art, Reuben loves inflicting pain, and Simeon, he loves building shit. And as I said, all the Djinn love a good tunnel.”

Chamuel holds his left hand out. “Djinn love a tunnel.” He holds his right hand out and the others shout for him to grab the wheel again. “Simeon loves to build big stuff. Result? Miles of underground secret passages and loads of other shit running underneath us from Oxford to the capital. Only a handful of people have ever known about this. So, we are going to Simeon’s secret tunnel network, a sort of advanced version of the Christians’ catacombs back in France. He had it built when he was first disqualified by the Council and, more recently, he had it all kitted out when he decided he was going to help you, Shane. He is a very resourceful Jinni, even us Arc Hon didn’t realise the extent of his labyrinth. I promise you, if we get there you will be impressed. IF WE GET THERE.”

Gillespie’s Bar, Nuevo Favelas, Hispanic District, 2146 AD

Donegal knocks on the door. “Hey, Ember, are you okay?” She can hear how upset Ember is, crying and mumbling to herself.

“Akk, ya poor wee mite, come here.”

Ember shuffles out and is grateful for the tight hug. She feels torn-up inside but knows she must go back in and watch the rest of the recording. Over Donegal’s shoulder she spots Chamuel standing in the corner. He says nothing, just turns and leaves.

“It’s a drink you’ll be needing.” Donegal releases her grip and walks behind the bamboo bar. She takes a bottle from under the counter and pours two generous shots.

“I don’t drink,” says Ember, settling onto the bar stool and lifting the glass anyhow.

“Trust me, if you’re gonna be spending time with that one out there and his like, you will need the sauce.”

“Thank you.” Ember drinks it down in one gulp then coughs and splutters as she attempts to keep it down. Donegal necks hers too and pours one more for each of them. “I am guessing there was some bad news on this thingy-me-bob he’s given ya?”

“Well, yes and no,” she sighs, trying to make sense of it herself. “I just found out my daddy’s not my real father, and that my real father died a long time ago.” She takes the second drink, handling this one a little better.

“Well, we all need our daddies. Mine was a good man, bit of a drunk, not the tidiest, but he loved his family and he was my best friend ’til the day he died. Didn’t leave me much, just this place, and the debts that went with it, but I still wish he was here.” She pours two more. “Have you watched it all? I couldn’t help overhearing you trying to turn the thing off, sounded like there was more.”

“There is but I’m not sure I want to see or hear any more.” Ember feels she can be honest with this kind-hearted woman but they both know it isn’t so much a case of “wanting to see more”. She simply isn’t sure she can physically or mentally take any more.