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BOOK: Oscar
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‘Move again, and I will finish you off.’ the guard shouted in his weakened victim’s ear.

The only reply he received from the hapless operative was a muffled groan.

#

Hours after the incident occurred, three black transit vans pulled up just shy of the prisoners. They were shivering with cold and still soaked through to the bone. They would fare no better once they entered the dangerous, life-threatening world of the camps. Each member of the Mind had been made to suffer in the miserable cold and was barely conscious. The pain began to set in, but that was the least of their worries.

Camp four had been prescribed as a suitable punishment for the deviants lying on the ground. This had been decided by the head patrolman on the journey over; he considered it fitting for a band of warriors who had been intent on destroying everything the current regime had built. As soon as the lead patrolman stepped down from one of the vans, he instantly recognised Miriam’s face. He had once worked under her when she was a minister within the walls of the Parliament buildings.

The lead patrolman beckoned two of his subordinates over.

‘Pick this one up.’ he ordered, pointing down at her.

They were none too gentle in their task, and she groaned deeply as they pulled her to her feet. Her head hung forlornly as she waited for their next move, but there was no next move. The lead Patrolman walked up to her, took her cap off, and lifted her head from beneath her chin with his free hand.

‘Miriam Scarsberg, what a surprise.’ An evil sneer played upon his face as he recalled how unpleasant it was working under her all those years ago.

‘James Prescott, I can’t say I’m surprised that you went the route of a patrolman!’ was her cynical, yet weak return.

‘Take her!’ he bellowed as he pushed her head violently away.

‘Rot in hell, Prescott.’ she retorted.

Her comment was met with a strong right hook that had her seeing stars.

‘No more talking, bitch—or I’ll gag you.’ he spat.

Her limp but conscious body was dragged over to one of the vans and dropped face down again.

Prisoners were dragged one after the other, some kicking and screaming towards the vans.

‘Load them up.’ Prescott screamed. ‘Time’s–a–wasting.’

#

Miriam stared at the patrolman sat opposite her in the back of the van. He was playing with his rifle and had a strange little smile on his face, making her wonder what he was thinking about. She was not the only one watching him; the two operatives on either side of her looked like they were wondering the same thing.

Every now and then, she would flex her jaw to rid herself of the painful sensation left behind by Prescott’s wicked right hand. A bruise of the deepest purple had formed around the bottom of her left cheek. This once-eloquent lady had now been reduced to labour camp fodder—beaten and bound, and heading for a certain and quick death. This was to be her punishment for her role in what the government saw as a treasonous plot. Sadness hit her as she thought about her fortieth birthday, and the fact that she might not live to see it; even if she did, it would be the last and worst birthday she would ever have. Maybe they would keep her alive long enough for a special Labour camp treat—a full card of torturous delights before her execution. All of the captives in the transports were to be executed within a week of their arrivals to camp four. The sentence was handed down to them as they made the journey to their hell on earth.

‘What are you staring at, woman?’ the patrolman opposite barked in frustration, seeing her looking his way. ‘Eyes down, or I’ll knock you out.’

Her eyes widened and she looked towards the van’s harsh metal flooring. Her colleagues followed suit as not to incur the patrolman’s wrath. That is how they would stay until the journey’s end.

‘Not a peep out of any of you, do you understand?’ was the patrolman’s final demand.

#

Labour camp four loomed in the distance, and Miriam could feel every bump in the road as they headed down an off-road dirt track. She dared to look up again and felt the effects of having her head down for such a long time; an agonising stiffness had attached itself to her neck. She couldn’t shake the achiness.

‘Eyes down, you insolent bitch.’ the patrolman spat. ‘I don’t want to have to make good on my threat.’

She winced as she painfully forced her head back down again.

‘Anyway, we haven’t got far to go now—you think you’re in pain now? You wait ‘til you see what they have in store for you here.’ The patrolman sniggered, pleased with himself for imparting that small amount of knowledge to the unfortunate people opposite him.

#

The three vans screeched to a halt one behind the other, narrowly missing the lead vehicle’s bumper. Miriam and her cohorts were thrown violently towards the front of the van. Trying to keep their balance and remaining seated at the same time was difficult, considering they didn’t have use of their hands. She shoulder-butted a steel railing at the front of the van, screaming out in pain as her shoulder crunched into it. The patrolman laughed at her discomfort and did nothing to alleviate it, just watching as she writhed in agony. The situation was made worse by her cohorts ramming into her and damaging her shoulder further, causing a loose piece of metal to cut through her maintenance overalls and into her flesh. Quickly, the other two prisoners relieved their weight from her. This did not help the pain, as she now had to pull her right shoulder out of the protruding piece of metal.

‘Please, help me.’ she screamed, struggling to release herself.

All the patrolman did was revel in her misery, laughing maniacally at her misfortune.

She grew visibly angry at her captor’s lack of compassion and began growling in frustration, pulling with all her might to free herself.

The lead patrolman opened the cockpit hatch upon hearing the commotion coming from the back of the van. He looked upon his former boss with a sense of satisfaction, having little sympathy for her predicament; at the same time, he didn’t want her to bleed out before they reached the camp.

‘Get her free!’ he boomed at the idle patrolman.

The patrolman wasn’t quick to hide his displeasure at having to put an end to his amusement. He raised himself gingerly from the van’s uncomfortable wooden bench and made his way over to her. He pulled hard on her arms from behind, releasing her from the steel’s painful grip; this was followed immediately by an ear-piercing squeal of pain. Blood begun to flow freely from the fresh wound, but was soon stemmed by a rag that the patrolman had tied round her shoulder tightly.

‘We can’t have you bleeding out, can we?’ he said cynically. ‘Got to leave something for the torture technicians, you see?’

She was beyond the point of caring now; she just wanted whatever it was to be as quick and painless as possible.

CHAPTER TEN

J
ohn Cutter stared impatiently at his watch, wondering where Miriam was. By his estimates, she and the rest of the Mind operatives should’ve been back a lot earlier than the time suggested.

‘They should’ve been back by now, Max.’ he pointed to his wrist for emphasis. ‘What the hell could possibly have gone wrong? It was a simple enough mission, and shouldn’t have taken the whole day to complete.

‘Eight bloody hours they’ve been gone—eight! If they’ve been caught by any chance, we need to be ready to get out of here.’

Max nodded in agreement as he went to warn the others, who had found refuge in the other houses that lined the road outside the front door. John turned to Oscar, flashing an uneasy smile his way, wondering to himself:
what kind of relationship did Oscar have with Miriam? Should he simplify what he had told Max, in a way that a seven-year-old could understand?

‘Oscar, come here for a moment.’ he ordered.

He slowly made his way across the room to where John was standing. He looked scared, but there was no need to be. As the day wore on, he had figured out that John Cutter was a friendly sort. It was just what he had to tell him that had Oscar worried.

He took hold of Oscar’s shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes. He could sense that the man was worried about what was about to be said but waited patiently for him to speak.

‘Miriam might not be coming back, Oscar.’ he said sternly, not trying to sugar-coat the situation.

‘We need to get out of here as soon as possible; we may no longer be safe.’ he warned.

He may have been only seven, but Oscar knew what John was trying to say.

‘You think she’s been taken to a camp, don’t you?’ he said, with a hint of sadness attached to his voice.

‘What do you know of the camps? You are too young to know about these things.’ he said, almost shouting.

This scared Oscar a great deal.
Why had his question angered John so much? Why would he think that Oscar didn’t know about the camps?

‘My mummy and daddy were sent to one.’ he finally replied, snivelling.

John looked upon the boy with a sense of regret for something to which he may have been a party. However, it was the wrong time to dwell on his misgivings.

‘I’m sorry for your loss, young man.’ he said, with very little warmth.

Oscar backed away angrily, and then turned and ran. He headed back upstairs to his bedroom and slammed the door with emphasis, for John’s benefit.

A short while later Max re-emerged, with the others following directly behind him.

‘We need to pack up and leave.’ John blasted in frustration. ‘The mission to blow up the armoury has been compromised.’

Panic set in as the women scurried around like headless chickens trying to organise their children. The noise was deafening; crying and pandemonium ensued. Each of the women was thinking about their husbands, and what may have happened to them.

John held his head in his hands for the briefest moment.


Qu-iet!
I can barely hear myself bloody think.’ he shouted over the din.

With that, a sudden silence followed. Everybody turned and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something reassuring. All he could tell them was that they had probably hidden themselves away until it was safe to come out again, knowing full well in the back of his mind that they had all been captured.
How could they not have been?
He thought to himself. The odds had been stacked against them since the plan’s conception.

#

Oscar looked toward the crack between the floor and the door to his bedroom. A shadow formed outside his room, and then came a gentle rapping.

‘Can I come in?’ said a gentle voice on the other side.

He said nothing at first.

‘Please, we have to go.’ said the voice, with a little more urgency. ‘Can you please come out?’

‘Go away!’ he screamed.

The door handle began to turn. John entered the room and simply looked at the boy for a minute. Oscar had no choice but to do as he was asked.

‘Grab what you need, Oscar. Hurry up about it.’ he said, sternly, as he started to disappear from view. Oscar grabbed his coat, bolted across the landing and made his way down the stairs as fast as he could.

John and the others were waiting in readiness to make their move out of the house and as far away from the armoury as possible. The idea was to move back to the city, but the lack of men had left the rest of The Independent Mind wanting. There were among them some weapons-experienced women who had no ties. John had plans for them. The chosen were to stay behind and defend the prize, ready for the reinforced Independent Mind to try and destroy the armoury again—a job that Miriam and the others that went with her had been incapable of doing.

‘We need to think about moving out.’ he ordered. ‘Let’s go, people. Hustle!’

In single file, each one passed through the solid oak door. They glanced at their surroundings before heading out into the street.

‘Move, people.’ he barked with impatience. ‘No dilly-dallying.’

The pace was picked up tenfold as they almost ran from their destination, with the children trying to keep up with them. The women chosen to stay went in the opposite direction from the rest; they were heading to take up their positions within the Kentish countryside, close to the armoury and ready for battle.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M
iriam lay upon her uncomfortable bunk, staring blankly at the Nissen hut’s crude corrugated metal ceiling. She nursed her ribs (bruised from another unwarranted beating) and wondered what was happening to her comrades. She had no one to tend to her; the other inmates had been warned to stay away on threat of death. She was a traitor, and the guards thought she ought to be treated as one, especially as the ringleader of the group that had plotted and schemed to render the government useless in a time of war and mistrust.

She had been summarily tried for treason, and a date had been set for her execution. Each member of the ill-fated cell had been dealt the same sentence. She, however, had been named as the leader by her so-called friends and colleagues, under the brutal interrogation techniques administered by the camp’s torture technicians. She would face the ultimate punishment for her crime—being burnt alive! Yes, it was medieval, but it was an effective deterrent.

She had been segregated from the other Independent Mind operatives upon arrival at the camp. From day one, she had known nothing but pain and the guards who were relentless in prescribing it. That was the way things would remain. The administration had cruelly arranged for her execution to take place on the day of her fortieth birthday, 22 April, 2032. The only thought running through her head was of relief.

Two days remained before her misery ended.

CHAPTER TWELVE

J
ohn Cutter and what remained of The Independent Mind had covered many miles in a few hours, but the children’s need to rest was weighing heavily on them. They were running out of light to be able to go any further anyway, so it was the perfect opportunity to stop for the night. But where would they rest? They were in the middle of nowhere, only corn and rapeseed fields for miles. The corn was tall enough for shelter, but hardly an ideal situation for the children. However, needs must when the devil drives.

BOOK: Oscar
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