Hooded Man (103 page)

“I’m not so sure,” she said, voice wavering. Before he could ask her what she meant, Clive Jr appeared in the doorway to the living room, wearing his pyjamas and clutching a teddy. He’d been in the other room asleep when Gwen came in. She went to him immediately.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for waking you sweetie, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Let’s get you back to bed, little man. You need your sleep.”

“He’s not the only one,” Darryl told her. “You look knackered.”

“Thanks a lot,” she laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said, concern etched on his face, and it was then that she realised just how much he cared about her.

Gwen shook her head. “I can’t, not with all this going on.”

“You’re no use to anyone like that, especially him,” Darryl said, nodding at Clive Jr.

He did have a point. How could she fight for her son when she was exhausted? She wouldn’t be able to think clearly if she was half asleep. “I’m not even sure I could, even if I tried,” she protested, but was already yawning in spite of herself; coming down off the adrenalin high she’d been on while questioning of the prisoner.

“You’d be surprised. Now go on, take him back to bed and get some rest yourself.”

Gwen nodded, holding Clive Jr’s hand. She turned back before heading upstairs. “Thanks Darryl. For everything.”

He smiled and waved a hand for her to get her head down. Which she did, taking the pistol from the back of her jeans and putting it under the pillow, then curling up with her son. She watched him nod off again, then watched him some more, her own eyes drooping.

She dreamt of
him
. The man who’d once saved her from almost certain death at Nottingham Castle – at the very least rape and who knows what else at the hands of that thug Jace. A Hooded Man, but not the one that everyone knew about. He wore a
red
hood, this one, over a face painted to resemble a skull – practically indistinguishable from the rest of his clan, though
she
could tell him apart instantly. She’d called him Skullface once, but now understood what an inappropriate name that was; used only because she knew nothing about him, not even his real name. Some would probably have said it was Servitor, because he served the Fallen One, but Gwen wasn’t so sure about that. He’d shown her only kindness and compassion, and at no other time since Clive’s death had she felt so safe.

In this dreamscape, he came to her again, exactly when she needed him. Gwen reached out and pulled down that crimson cowl, stroking the painted face. The face of a dead man, because hadn’t he once died? She didn’t know
how
she knew that, but he’d also been reborn in flames. She felt the rough edges of the tattoo on his forehead: an inverted pentangle and cross. Her hands went even higher, feeling the bristles of his shaven head, and she wondered what he’d looked like before all this. What he looked like without the painted skull, with his hair grown long. And suddenly her question was answered, because standing there in front of her was a man who looked almost exactly like Clive. It wasn’t him, of course, could never
be
him. But the resemblance was uncanny. This man had felt the same kind of pain as her – somehow she knew that as well. He’d lost people he cared about: a lover... no, a wife. And a child.

It was the kind of bond which could only be shared through loss.

Gwen felt herself falling into his eyes, pools of sadness coaxing her in. Then suddenly they were holding each other, arms wrapped about each other, clinging like they were drowning. When their lips met it was with a hunger she’d never felt when she was with Clive. There was an urgency this time, as if at any moment this would be snatched away from her, as it was before. Gwen closed her eyes...

Their mouths parted and his tongue found hers, dancing with it, at first tentatively, then with that same driving need. They were exploring each other’s bodies. Gwen’s hands ran down his naked back, feeling the strength of him and holding him closer as they kissed: faces locked together until there was no differentiating them.

Gwen lay back and let him kiss her neck, butterfly kisses which ended at her nipples. She moaned, loudly now, as he took one into his mouth, sucking and biting.

But that sensation was nothing compared to what came next. He was inside her, even though she hadn’t felt him slide in. She could feel him there, and it was beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. They kissed again, tongues lapping at each other as he moved backwards and forwards on top of Gwen. The motion increased along with the intensity of feeling. His thrusts were hard and gentle at the same time, lifting her higher and higher into this feeling. Breaking off the kiss, she was moaning in time with those thrusts. Her hands at his shoulders willing him on.

She felt like she was going to explode. It was only at the very point of finishing, when she couldn’t hold back any longer, that she opened her eyes. To see something from her worst nightmare.

The Sheriff, De Falaise. Labouring away above her, sweat pouring from his brow, his yellow teeth glinting in the light. A memory from when she’d been held against her will at the castle, used like some kind of sex toy.

Gwen’s cry of ecstasy became a scream.

She woke suddenly, just in time to hear explosions breaking the silence outside.

P
HASE
T
WO OF
the plan started when Tanek reached the woodland on the outskirts of New Hope.

As he pulled up in the Eagle, he was greeted by Brauer, who saluted him. That made Tanek smile. It was good to be in command of men again, even if it was only for this one mission. It was the respect he’d earned, the respect he’d commanded when he’d been De Falaise’s right-hand man. He’d never felt fully in charge during his time with the Russians – too many people looking over his shoulder, including the Tsar himself. Here he was alone, with a small army who were under orders to obey him, whatever the cost.

The first thing Tanek wanted to know was how they’d allowed one of the men to be taken.

“How did any of the villagers get out in the first place?”

Brauer shook his head. “We have all possible entrances and exits covered, sir.”

“Not
all
of them, apparently.” But he wasn’t going to expend valuable time and manpower searching for them. Tanek needed to step up the siege, force the people inside to give themselves up.

Or give up the child.

The woman the boy belonged to would never surrender herself – she’d die rather than see him fall into the hands of the Sheriff’s former second. But the others might, with the correct motivation. They’d already been shot at from every conceivable position around that damned wall they’d erected – a troublesome obstacle, but a good idea, Tanek had to admit. It prevented them from leaving, in theory. Now it was time to show them that he and his forces would be coming in soon, whether they liked it or not. The only thing that had prevented him from blowing the shit out of them in the first place was that they might accidentally hurt the boy. None of them had the first clue where he was being kept, and a stray mortar fired into the village might just hit a building with him inside.

But that didn’t prevent a barrage against the wall.

“Ride with me,” he told Brauer, and the man saluted again.

They drove towards the gates of New Hope, and the Eagle began to draw fire from a gunman positioned on the wall. The bullets bounced harmlessly off its armoured exterior. Tanek parked and slid out, using the vehicle as cover. He ordered Brauer out, to give him a hand with something he had in the back, under the camouflaged canvas cover.

Brauer barely batted an eye when he saw the huge GMG automatic grenade launcher. A look of understanding passed across his hard face as he realised why Tanek had asked him along. Resembling a very large M-60, it fired grenades in place of bullets, fed through a belt. The gunmen from the wall continued to fire at them as they set up the mount, Tanek fixing the gun into position. A ricochet sparked off the side of the jeep near his head, but he barely even twitched, concentrating on the task in hand.

“Ready?” Tanek asked Brauer, who nodded, holding the grenade belt.

The larger man pivoted the barrel of the GMG and aimed for the wall. The blast almost knocked Brauer backwards, but Tanek remained rooted to the spot. The grenades exploded against the wall, which shook with the impacts.

Tanek shifted position, relying on Brauer to move with him, and fired several more along the length of the wall.
Should get their attention
.

There was no return fire, at least for a few seconds. Then it came again; the bullets, pathetic compared with the GMG’s load.

Okay
, thought Tanek.
Let’s try this.

Leaving Brauer with the canon, he made his way round the side of the Eagle, picking something up from the back seat as he went. Tanek walked out into the enemy fire, standing there as if daring any of the sentry’s bullets to strike him. And indeed they refused, hitting trees, foliage and the dirt track. Then Tanek raised his repeater crossbow, as accurate a weapon as any you could wish for, and loosed bolts into the gaps on the top of the wall.

The gunfire stopped. Tanek stood there and grunted with satisfaction.

“People of New...
Hope
,” he shouted “You have something we want. A boy belonging to a woman called Gwen. Your leader. You are cut off. Give us what we came here for, or suffer the consequences.”

“Do you think they will listen, sir?” asked Brauer.

Tanek didn’t reply; he just looked out over the bonnet of his vehicle, up towards the wall. He saw a brief glimpse of auburn hair.

And now he really was tempted to grin.

G
WEN HAD WOKEN
from the dream feeling flushed and disgusted at the same time, but hadn’t had the opportunity to reflect on it thanks to the explosions.

Several
bangs
in quick succession, all coming from beyond the wall. Clive Jr slept on, oblivious, so she’d retrieved the pistol from under the pillow, hurried downstairs, then asked Darryl to watch her son.

“What is it, what were those noises?” he said as she opened the gun cabinet near the door. Gwen took out a Colt Commando assault rifle, one of the haul she’d originally brought with her from Nottingham Castle.

“Trouble,” she replied, locking the cabinet again and tossing him the key.

The first thing she noticed was that it was fully light outside, dawn having broken while she’d slept. Another blast hit as she was running towards the wall – followed by gunfire – and she was joined by more villagers who’d been roused by the noise, including Karen and Dr Jeffreys.

Gwen saw Andy lying on the ground at the base of the wall, not moving; the rifle he had been using was a few feet away. For a moment or two she thought he was dead, and mixed emotions surged through her. How she’d once been great friends with this man, but had found herself at odds with him of late.

She was relieved when she saw him move, until she got closer and could see what had done this to Andy. Two crossbow bolts: one in the shoulder, the other in the chest. She slowed her pace. Only one person she’d ever known used a weapon like that.

Then she heard his voice and it sent a shiver down her spine. He was calling from beyond the wall, telling them it was Gwen’s son they’d come here for. She still couldn’t understand why, unless after all this time Tanek had decided to believe the bollocks about Clive Jr being De Falaise’s child. It was something Tate, Robert, maybe even Mary believed – but a mother knew her own son, in her heart. The boy was Clive’s.

Jeffreys was attending to Andy, so she ascended the ladder. Crouching on the ledge of the wall, she risked a peek at her foe. How he’d got his feet under the table with the Germans was anyone’s guess, but then mercenaries flocked together, didn’t they? It was how De Falaise and Tanek had hooked up in the first place.

Just look at the arrogant sod, standing there like he’s indestructible.
But like her dream lover, hadn’t Tanek come back from the dead once, after the battle for Nottingham Castle? Come back with a fleet of Russian soldiers as his allies.
Working his way around the fucking countries
.

She could see Tanek watching from behind his vehicle, and ducked back out of sight. Gwen wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was there. Of knowing she was shit scared about what they were going to do next.

It had been bad enough when she thought the Germans were on their own; now, who knew how many more troops might come? They were just villagers with guns, not well trained, either. Some hadn’t even fired a gun before, in spite of her best efforts to prepare them. Some, like Karen, had never taken a life and she couldn’t rely on them to begin now.

It was time to start being realistic. In most cases they would have been able to fend off what came down that road. If Javier, the man who’d killed Clive, had trundled up now, they could have at least have sent
him
packing. But Tanek was a different kettle of fish.
Face it, you need help,
Gwen told herself.

Tate.

Gwen hated herself for even thinking it, but the Reverend – her old friend, who’d left her a prisoner of the Sheriff for so long, who’d put her in danger again when the Tsar had attacked – was probably their only hope.

At the castle was Robert, and wouldn’t he just love to see her begging for their help? But there were also the Rangers. Well trained specialists who’d be able to take those Krauts down without breaking a sweat. With them on the outside, and her lot fighting from within, they might yet stand a chance.

Gwen caught sight of the villagers below. They were looking up, some accusatory – blaming her for bringing this to their doorstep – but most looking to her for a solution.

There was only one thing she could think of to do.

Gwen got down, motioning for someone else to take her place on the wall. Hardly worth it, probably, but they still had to make an attempt to defend New Hope.

“Okay,” she told the assembled crowd, “here’s what we’re going to do...”