Thimblewinter (12 page)

I was about to go to him, fighting the terror that held me stiff and stuck to the spot, when out of nowhere came a shape from nightmares - a beast that seemed to me at that juncture to be the size of a pony - with wet, glistening jaws that appeared to be all of its head. It paused as if deciding between us and then fell on Owen. I stepped back and screamed and, as if alerted, it left its first prey and came for me. I had a long knife at my belt that I fumbled for, though my hands did not seem able to loosen it. Just as I got it clear, there was a blinding flash and a deafening blast and the thing jerked back as if on a rope.

Nes was beside me and talking, though I couldn’t make out what she had said. I saw Joshua away to the right, running as fast as he could for the pass, as were all of the villagers who were still on their feet. The two scouts, who had gained that neck of high ground, were providing covering fire with a cross bow and a hunting rifle. I was getting ready to sprint, when Nes pulled me back, grabbing my hair and pushing me down behind her into broken ground.

I struggled with her, almost hysterical, trying to get away, trying to run as fast as I could to the pass and down to the village. The woman let go of the butt of the shotgun and back-handed me. The shock temporarily numbed me and then I felt anger; better for me than terror anyway.

“Listen,” she said,” I’m sorry, but you’ve got to listen. We will never make the pass. Those dogs can outrun us and their archers are too good. We have to head back and hide out.”

She pulled me and I meekly followed, down a gully, which emptied into a stream, and then up the further bank into a woodland of stunted trees. I was still nursing my cheek. It wasn’t the first time I’d been slapped - Rachel had a temper that ran red-hot at times - but it was such an intimate and violating thing for Nes to have done. Part of me was resentful, part of me was still seeing Owen and that hell-hound, but then all of me became fearful, terror-stricken, as I realised we were being followed.

I could hear them coming. There was the dog that was hunting us, a different pattern of noise as it coursed through the undergrowth, and there were the others, the people, treading softly, then running to keep up with the dog, making animal calls to tell each other where they were. We were running too, then, until we came smack up against a rock-face and it seemed we were done. We couldn’t climb the bare rock with these hunters below us.

I scrabbled at the rock anyway; fear driving me, but Nes pulled me back.

“Listen. Stop and listen! We have only seconds!” I feared another slap, but her hand held an automatic pistol, butt first. She was giving it to me.

“Listen!” She repeated and I fought off the numbing animal fear to hear what she said.

“The dog will come first and then the men. I will shoot the dog, but if I can’t put it down and it comes for me, you will have to shoot the men that will be coming behind. There are two of them. The safety is off on the gun. Do it and do it properly or we’re dead!”

She had just turned around, when the dog came barrelling out of the bushes. She got a shot off, but this dog was canny and dodged to the side at the end of its charge, getting some shot in its flank, though was not put down, and then it fell onto Nes.

I heard voices and footfalls and saw the first man emerge, his bow held in front of him, arrow nocked and ready. He had no target though; dog and woman were rolling on the floor like one creature. But then his eyes made me out, emerging, as it were, from indistinct shape to girl out of the dusk light. He brought up the bow and I fired, missing him and feeling the recoil of the heavy weapon pushing back at my wrists and wrenching my shoulders.

He shot, but something spoilt his aim, as he was pushed forward at the last minute by the man who had just emerged behind him and then collapsed into his legs. I fired again and kept firing and the furs and skins he wore became slick and bloody as the bullets hit him. All I saw of his face was a long beard and hair under a fur cap, face marked or stained in some way, whether camouflage or war-paint I couldn’t tell, then he toppled over on top of the other man, who had not moved since he came out of the bushes.

My mouth gaped open, I was uncomprehending. To my left, Nes, bleeding and looking the worse for wear was battering the dog’s skull with the butt of her gun. She stopped abruptly, when she realised it was quite dead, and came over to me.

We both stared for a while at the two hunters and then she remembered where we were and went down on one knee scanning the bushes in front of her. Afterwards, she checked the bodies, grimacing at the stench of them that I could also smell. She found nothing of any use and even left the food they carried, which seemed to consist mainly of rancid meat.

When she was sure there were no more signs of pursuit, we started up the rock face. It was difficult enough in the darkness, but it wasn’t long until we came to a ledge that fronted a cave going back into the rock. Nes was careful to check that it had no prior occupants before we finally pulled ourselves up into its mouth, looking back at where we had come. We couldn’t see anything though, just darkness.

Nes would not risk a fire, but we got as far back in the cave as we could and she lit a candle.

“You’re not hurt are you?” She asked and I shook my head.

“You are going to have to do something about my wounds, if you don’t mind.”

I was surprised she was asking me, not telling, and in such a gentle way, but from her voice I had caught the hint of how tired she was and how hurt she felt.

She stripped her coat and her other layers off and I felt a blush coming; we were not big on nakedness in the village, it was too cold usually. I had also never really realised how beautiful she was, until then. She could not see my embarrassment in the dark and I quickly started to work on dressing her wounds, as she was very afraid of infection from the dog’s teeth.

We had a small flask of alcohol, which I used to clean every cut and puncture. She had been swaddled in so many clothes that the teeth and claws had been unable to penetrate far, but, where they had, they’d left savage marks. The bottom of her body was alright apart from a bite on her thigh. She shucked off her trousers so I could clean this too. I bandaged her wounds as best I could and she was shaking with the cold by the time she dressed again.

“Thanks,” she said, “and you did well down there, though not really as I’d planned it”.

She told me that when I’d missed the first man, I’d inadvertently hit the second, killing him and spoiling the other one’s aim with the same bullet.

“Who were they anyway?” She asked.

And I told her what I knew of them, who we called the mountain men. How they lived high up in the hills, seldom trading, living by hunting and occasional raids on settlements. We knew very little about them, they kept much to themselves and seemed to have reverted back to some earlier state of being.

“Nobody can say that you don’t have an interesting and varied set of locals in these parts,” she said, after I had finished.

We spent the night as best we could, huddled together, sleeping in snatches, ever-watchful. She was good to sleep with, Nes; she always smelled good and kept herself clean, quite fastidious compared with someone like Rowena. And keeping clean was a real chore in those days.

Before dawn, we were both wide awake, partly from the cold and partly because I could not free my thinking from the events of the day before. I think Nes guessed what was going through my mind.

“It’s easy to kill someone,” she said, “sometimes harder to live with it afterwards. But you know that we had no choice there. I hesitate to think what would have happened to us.”

I could feel her looking at me in the dark, trying to see if her words had made any difference.

“There was a war in my country. The land dried up and the desert moved southwards. That was what was behind it; however it was dressed up with religion or politics. I’d led a privileged life, going to University - if you know what that is - and then teaching there. But when the civil war came, I ended up in uniform like everyone else.”

She sighed as if it gave her pain to recall it.

“When the rebels came to the city, I saw some terrible things and, in the end, I became hardened to them. When the city fell, I was one of the lucky ones. I got out on a ship bound north, but I lost my life, my family, everything. The ship didn’t take me far as I couldn’t afford the passage onwards, so I crossed the desert like thousands of others. I came to Europe, to Spain, just when things were breaking apart.”

She was silent for a while and I thought that she had finished, but then she whispered:

“I thought I was doomed to some vagrant life, escaping down those roads, which got narrower by the mile, past burning cities, deserts where once there were vineyards. I ended up in a place called Santander, with a lot of other refugees. I must have got one of the last ferries out of there. I was homeless and friendless until I met Richards. But that second life is also gone now.”

Nes didn’t weep, but her voice seemed hoarse and almost breaking. I expected her to sob, but she didn’t, though crying would have been good for her. She was quiet then and I thought she had fallen back to sleep. So I whispered:

“Perhaps this is your third life.”

The reply was slow in coming:

“Perhaps it is.”

Morning came and we ate what food we had; both of us always kept an emergency reserve for occasions such as this. We made our way carefully down towards the pass in the morning light. There was no sign of life anywhere. We came to the slope above the meadow and spent some time there scanning the ground. We didn’t speak. At a signal from Nes we traced our way towards the head of the pass.

The field was carpeted with the carcasses of sheep and dead people; some of the sheep had been crudely butchered where they lay, the meat carried off. I counted three of our people dead; four including Owen, whose body had disappeared. I thought there would have been more. I was glad I was mistaken. Some of the bodies were mutilated, as if the hunters had collected body parts; ears, fingers and the like. I had to keep from gagging. Of the hunters’ bodies there was no sign, I guessed that they had borne off their dead, but of their beasts I spotted two carcasses, plus the one that Nes had done for.

We breasted the rise at the top of the pass and looked down into the valley. Coming up towards us was a party of villagers, led by the Constable, with Dai and May for support. The Constable was so pleased to see us that he not only hugged me, but also embraced Nes. Though you could see it was awkward for her, she tolerated it. We got the story from them of the last night’s happenings, as they retrieved the bodies of our dead.

The Constable had been worried about the flock and the escort and had been minded to send a welcoming party up the pass to support us as we came down. They’d arrived below the pass just as the attack was going on, but they had taken position on the slopes and covered the flock and the villagers with fire as they passed down the valley. The hunters had called off their pursuit; they’d seldom press an attack, being more of the hit-and-run sort of bandit.

Losses to a small place like ours had been severe enough, but four dead and five wounded was better than the loss of the whole party and the sheep, the Constable said, and then he hesitated.

“But we have one still missing,” he said. And I knew he meant Joshua.

The day after, I was taken by a chill. It had come on me the night following our return to the village and my sleep, when it came, was awash with fever dreams of Joshua and the mountainside. Every so often I was pushed up from my dreams to wakefulness, as if swimming upwards from a deep pool, just breaking surface, and then descending back. Joshua was talking to me, but I couldn’t catch his words and there were the dogs, the demon dogs, but they played like puppies, while the flock grazed close by, ignoring them.

I awoke weak and unsteady after two such nights to a day so bright it hurt my eyes. Snow had come in the night and there were blankets of drifts lying over the land, the bright sun melting it down until all that was left was in the shadows.

I knew Nes had been there while I was ailing, I remembered her face looming above me, and, of course, Rachel, who I think would have liked to either blame the woman or thank her for saving me and was thus in some confusion. But I awoke to silence.

I managed to get my clothes on and went to the front door. The street was also deserted and for a moment a rush of fear filled my head, as I thought that somehow they had all gone in the night. As if everyone had left the village, except me.

I made my way down the street avoiding the slicks of melting slush. This was not real snow, when that came we would be locked in for weeks; this was just a forerunner of the winter. I heard a noise almost like a buzzing of bees and as I came to the end of the street, I could see where it was coming from. It seemed that every villager was up on the wall or on one of the towers, looking north. The winged skull people had finally arrived.

I made my way towards the gate towers and found Rachel there on the first storey. She said nothing to me, but hugged me close. Her eyes would not leave the plain in front of the village. I found out later that the Sergeant had told the people to keep at their posts and not crowd the walls, but they had ignored him. Everyone wanted to see this. It was like that terrible thing in a nightmare that you know is frightening and horrible and all your senses tell you not to turn around, not to look at it, but you do anyway. You have to.

They were much as they had been before, with their banners, the chains they wore festooned on their leather jackets, the motorcycle helmets and all that passed for them in its ragged way as finery. They seemed to have more carts with them, more people following them and droves of captives. They looked wearier this time. As if they knew that winter would soon be here and it was driving them on to seek warmth; fires in hearths and hot food.

I found out later that they had arrived in the dusk of the evening before. There’d been no mine whistle to warn us this time, because on their last visit, as a parting, spiteful gift, they had wrecked the watchman’s house and the old mine office. But the Constable had posted guards in the ruined house and these had given their own warning, before withdrawing.

The winged skull people were careful to keep out of range. I could see that - though they seemed to have fewer motorbikes than they did before, perhaps because they lacked fuel - the chief had got himself some sort of jeep and was sitting in the back of it as if he were some king or prince.

“You almost expect him to give us a royal wave,” I heard the Constable say, and some people laughed, though I did not understand the joke.

A small group of riders on bikes and quads detached themselves from the main party and made towards our gates. As they got closer I could see that Great Coat was amongst them. The man looked as ill as I felt and he made no attempt to talk or bargain.

“Open your gates!” He said. “Open up now and you’ll keep your lives!”

The Constable gave no response.

“Our men are tired and hungry. If they have to take the place by force, I don’t want to even start to imagine the things they’ll do to you. So open up now!”

I could see fearful eyes looking up at the Constable. Even then, after all the preparations they had made, I’m sure many there would have opened the gates and hoped for the best, to survive in any way they could.

Great Coat had sharp eyes, I’ll give that to him. He had spotted the soldiers and their weapons, and other faces there that looked like they didn’t fit.

“I can see that you’ve got some - how can I put it - professionals among you and I’m talking only to them now. You can depart without fear of harm, but you must go immediately!”

Faces, now, were turned towards the Sergeant.

“I’ll go when the job’s over,” he answered, both to Great Coat’s question and also, I think, to that unasked question, which was in the eyes of the people all around him.

Great Coat did not respond and then the Constable spoke:

“We’re free people and this is our village. If you want what we’ve got, you’ll have to try to take it, but it will be the ruin of you. You can go now, depart, and we won’t harm you or bear you ill will.”

A few people laughed at this, laughed at the way the Constable had turned the threat around, but mostly we were too scared.

Great Coat shrugged: “You have until noon to decide.”

And then the bikes turned and were gone.

Someone was crying now and others were close to joining in. Angry words were being spoken, arguments were breaking out.

“Go to your posts,” the Constable said, “do what you’ve been told. This day will pass and we’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Many, I think, doubted the Constable’s prediction, when the first attack came. It was well into the afternoon, later in the day, just when the light was going. There seemed no plan to it, no stratagem, just a brutal hammer blow delivered onto the gates and the front of the village. They came in a massed charge on foot, riders on ponies lapping around the flanks of the place looking for a weak spot, but the bulk of their forces coming head on for the gate.

The Sergeant had given the Kalashnikovs to people who knew how to use them, like Nes and the younger one of the brothers, and four of the villagers who showed some aptitude. The automatic weapons, including the soldiers’ SA80s, had been assigned to the towers and strongpoints of the walls. The skilled archers, like Rowena, were to act as snipers, selecting targets, especially any leaders amongst the attackers.

The Constable had wanted to man the walls as fully as possible, but the sergeant had suggested another tactic. He would position a limited number of people on the walls, but keep in reserve a small force, which could reinforce the perimeter wall, wherever it seemed in danger of being breached. The Constable had also wanted to destroy the bridge over the ditch that lead to the gateway, but the Sergeant wouldn’t let him

“Leave it,” he said, “it will help to funnel them in.”

I had stayed by the gate-way as everyone had been too busy to send me home. Cal came past carrying a crate of bottles with wrapped around rag fuses, Molotov cocktails he called them. He was about to send me home, but thought better of it.

“Go help Rachel,” he said.

My aunt had set up a makeshift aid post in one of the houses next to the gates and was busy tearing sheets for bandages and checking our meagre supplies of medicines and drugs. But before I could go to join her, I was pulled into cover below the palisade by Rowena. She said nothing, but motioned for me to keep my head down.

They came at the gate in the full confidence of their repute and renown, this blood tribe. Their reputation had served them well before and they had carried villages and towns in this first terrible charge. They came on at a run, howling and screaming, so fired up that I suspect they were drugged. I could hear the Sergeant’s voice from the tower above saying:

“Steady now! Steady! Wait for my order.”

Rowena, of course, ignored his words and she was already up on the parapet, selecting targets and letting fly. Then I heard the Sergeant’s order to fire and all hell broke loose. As it was, I only saw the patch of ground that I buried my face in, but later there were enough stories told about what had happened.

The enemy had come straight for the bridge and the gates, as the Sergeant had known they would. They were met with automatic fire and a brace of Molotov cocktails pitched at them by Cal. Faced by the burning fuel many of them had jumped into the ditch, which Cal had mined. These mines were crude devices and some of them didn’t go off, or they were too lacking in explosive power to do much damage.

They did enough though; the ditches beneath the towers were soon clogged with maimed and dead men. There were the spikes as well; many of the winged skull warriors tried to jump across the ditch or into it without seeing the spikes set there.

Around the flanks of the village some of the horsemen had tried to storm the ditch and the fence, but these were cut down by the crossfire from the towers and strongpoints. Any that survived were dispatched by shotgun blasts or close-quarter weapons at or beneath the wall.

I watched Rowena and saw a sort of savage glee on her face, but I just felt sick with the stench of it; the acrid fumes from the explosives, the butcher shop smell of torn bodies and the obscene tang of burning human flesh. There was a cacophony of noise too; the screams of the horses, the unearthly sounds that the dying made and the terrible din of gun-fire and explosion.

Though it seemed awfully long to us, that first attack must have been over in half an hour or so. The enemy fell back in some disorder, as the Sergeant described it. Cal told me later that you could almost see their certainty of victory draining from their eyes, their confusion as they ran away from us. The Sergeant stopped the firing as soon as they broke. We were too short of ammunition to waste it and besides, he said, we shouldn’t finish off their wounded as they would be an added burden on them.

Their chief had been out there on the plain with his bodyguard urging them back, trying to stem the rout. Rowena had a shot at him, but cursed when she missed and, when an answering rifle shot clipped the palisade beside her, she crouched down next to me,

A cheer went up all along the wall from our people, but Rowena laughed at this.

“They’ll be back,” she said.