Hooded Man (24 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HEY’D BEEN WAITING
in the truck now for about twenty minutes.

Mark especially. Waiting, tensed, picking at the material of his empty backpack.

He looked round at the faces in here, each one the same tangle of anguish. Every prisoner asking the same thing. Were they going to get out of this alive? All of them had been bound at the wrists with plastic ties, so tight they cut into the skin. They’d been bundled in any which way, face down, sitting, on their knees: manhandled by the Sheriff’s men on their rounds amassing hostages.

That’s why they were standing now, engine idling, as the men with machine guns ravaged yet another village known to have been accepting help from the Hooded Man. Mark shut his eyes, but then the memories of the attack rushed back. He’d been helping unload goods and distribute them. Jacob, one of the guys who’d been shanghaied into the Sheriff’s army, and was now glad to be out of it, had nudged Mark and pointed across at a local girl staring at them. She was wearing a yellow dress and had freckles on her cheeks.

“Think she likes you. She’s been gaping over all the time we’ve been here.” Jacob grinned.

“Get out of it,” Mark had replied.

Jacob had made a kissing gesture then and Mark hit him on the arm. “Hey, I was only playing with you – should count yourself lucky if she does. Pretty girl, that.”

She was. Though he still considered himself too young for all that kind of nonsense, Mark had done quite a bit of growing up in the last couple of years. Had been forced to. So while he was still a kid in many respects, he was more mature than many thirteen year olds. And he had begun, finally, to notice the opposite sex. Maybe Jacob had a point in his own clumsy way, and you could never have too many friends. So, he’d nervously met her eye a few times as Tony Saddler continued organising the drop. Mark had been sad when he looked up at the end and found the girl gone.

“Good work, guys,” Tony told them, “take a breather.”

Mark looked around for the girl again, but it had been her who found him, tapping him on the shoulder and saying hello. She introduced herself as Sophie and asked if he wanted a drink after all that hard work.

Mark nodded shyly, then followed her into the house where he assumed she lived. “It’s not mine, of course, but I chose it when I came here.” He remembered thinking that maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d had to mature quickly; at just fourteen Sophie was running her own little household, by the looks of things. She’d originally come from West Bridgford, she told him, just the other side of Nottingham: a small place that had been taken over by gangs and thugs believing they owned the joint. They had driven her out, and she’d begun the journey further north, hoping to find somewhere quieter; somewhere safer. On the road she’d hooked up with a group of men and women doing the same, and fell in with them. Then they’d settled here.

“It was peaceful for a while,” she told Mark as she fixed him his drink. “We got on with our lives, made plans, began to imagine the future might be different. But then the Sheriff’s men came.”

“Sounds familiar,” he told her.

She shrugged. “We got off lightly compared to some I’ve heard about. They just took things, not people. So,” Sophie had said as she offered him a seat, “what’s he like?”

“Who?”

She laughed. “The Hooded Man, silly.”

“Oh,” said Mark, deflating somewhat. “He’s... well, he’s pretty cool, really.”

“Is it true he once took on fifty of the Sheriff’s men single-handed?”

Mark stared hard at her. “Erm...”

“That he’s seven foot tall with a square chin and broad shoulders?”

Mark squirmed in the chair; he hadn’t been expecting to be fielding questions about her crush on Robert. “He’s quite old,” Mark informed her. “Old enough to be my... well, your dad too, really.”

She seemed a little disappointed by that. “Really? I heard he was about nineteen, twenty.”

Mark shook his head. “But you do know I’m like his second in command, don’t you?”

Sophie seemed to perk up at that. “Really?”

Mark nodded. “He runs everything by me. I’m his official advisor as well, his PR man, the works.”

She pulled up a stool and brought it round the side of the table to sit near Mark. Sophie was only a few inches away and, without realising it, he found himself breathing in and out a little too quickly. “Tell me more,” she said, bubbling with excitement. “Have you been in many battles with him?”

“Oh, yeah, course. Loads.”

Sophie practically jumped up and down with delight. “So, go on, I want to hear about the best one.”

Mark thought for a moment. “Well, there was this one time at market when –”

He hadn’t got any further before he heard the gunfire. Both he and Sophie rushed to the window and looked out, in time to see Tony Saddler and the other men dropping to defensive positions as bullets whistled around them. They were being picked off one by one, sitting targets in the middle of the road. Someone started up the armoured truck, but before they could pull away, an explosion flipped it onto its side. Mark pulled Sophie from the window just as a hail of gunfire shattered the glass, spraying them with fragments.

“Get back,” Mark shouted to her, and she nodded, terrified. What had been just stories before, entertainment and excitement, was suddenly real and happening right now. More bullets ricocheted off the door of the house – and then suddenly there were soldiers, forcing their way inside.

“Get behind me!” Mark shouted to Sophie, his voice cracking, adrenalin pumping through him.

“Hey, what do we have here?” The lead soldier, a youth with a scar running across his jawline, sneered at them both. “Two little muppets playing happy families.”

“I dunno, Jace,” said the man behind him, “the girl’s fit enough.”

Jace tramped towards them, grabbing Mark and swinging him out of the way. Mark hit the wall, bouncing off it and into a chair. “Yeah, you’re right there, Oaksey. I definitely vote she comes with us.” Jace laughed raucously.

He reached out for Sophie and took hold of the top of her dress. He pulled and the fabric tore easily. They appeared to have forgotten about Mark.

He got up, running at the thugs, grabbing the lead one by the waist and sending all three of them sideways – while Sophie fell back onto the floor. “Fuck me!” Jace called out as he toppled over. Mark had seen Jack use that wrestling move more times than he could remember, but never thought he’d have to put it into practice.

Other soldiers came in, and pulled Mark off – though not before he got a few good kicks in.

“Quit goofing around,” one of the newcomers told Jace and his mate as they scrabbled back to their feet. “Let’s get these two into the truck.”

“Just one from this house, remember?” said another soldier.

“Right.” Jace turned the rifle on Mark. “Bye-bye, muppet.”

“Wait,” Mark said, waving his hands. “Listen to me. The Hooded Man, the one you’re looking for. I’ve seen him.”

“Here?” asked Jace’s friend.

“He was here, yeah. Just before you came.”

“Bullshit.” Jace jammed his gun in Mark’s face.

“Wait, we’ll take him anyway. He might come in useful, and kids make good prisoners.”

“But what about her?” Jace whined, thumbing back towards Sophie.

“Leave her. There’ll be more skirt, and closer to your age.”

Jace considered this. “I guess you’re right.” He grabbed Mark roughly by the collar. “Come on, you little prick.”

Mark just had time to look back at Sophie, who mouthed a silent thank you. Then he was being shoved outside, where the fight was all but over. The men remaining from his group were either dead or badly wounded. Mark saw Jacob lying on the concrete, covered in blood. He just about had enough strength to look up at Mark, a pitiful expression on his face, then one of the Sheriff’s men came up behind him and emptied a full magazine into the youth.

Mark bit his lip, unable to let himself cry, unable to even show that he’d known the dead man, let alone that they’d been kidding around together not long ago.

“Move it!” Jace pushed Mark hard, almost sending him over. If he was honest, Mark was glad to get away from the scene; the more he saw of it, the more he knew it would stay with him for ever.

When they got to the prisoner truck, out by the road, Jace pulled the bag from Mark’s back and began rooting around inside it. “Got anything valuable in here, shithead? Any weapons, maybe? Bet you’d just love to stick me with something, wouldn’t ya?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed.
You’ll get yours, Jace. Don’t worry about that.

Jace emptied out the backpack, tossing it into the rear of the truck. He ate the chocolate bars and cast aside any items he deemed to be rubbish. “Ah, what’s this?” he said finally, pulling out a small photo album. He opened it up, flipping through the pages. They showed pictures of Mark when he was younger, during happier times: birthdays, holidays, bonfire nights, Christmas.

“Leave that alone,” spat Mark.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Jace snarled back, tearing the clear plastic of one page like he’d pawed at Sophie’s dress. He took out a photo, dropping the rest of the album on the ground. Jace spun it around, showing Mark the picture of himself with a man and woman in their late thirties, standing with their hands on his shoulders. They were all dressed in walking gear, wearing backpacks and woolly hats. There were fields behind them, and a couple of mountains. “Who’re these boring twats?” Mark didn’t reply. “Your folks, right? S’pose they bought it when the virus came, huh? Personally I was glad to see the back of mine, the interfering... Do yourself a favour, muppet. Let it go. They’re fucking dust.” He began to tear the photo in half and Mark snatched at it. Jace smacked him to the floor, then he threw the photograph over his shoulder before binding Mark with the plastic ties.

As he was thrown into the back of the truck, after his backpack, the vehicle was already filling up with other captives. Mark stared down at the ground, at his belongings there – gathered over the course of his time on the streets – and the photo album being trampled on, kicked around: the picture in two halves ground into the concrete by heavy boots. He fought back the tears. It was like having his childhood taken away from him a second time.

But there was nothing he could do, as the doors of the truck were closed and they trundled away.

Those same doors opened again now, as the waiting was over, and the soldiers directed more people to climb inside. Mark sprang for the exit, attempting to squeeze through and run away. He knew he only had a slim chance, but how many times had he escaped the crazies in the cities, in the towns, on his quest to pick up items for the market, in his quest to stay alive?

He could do it, just this one last time – escape and find Robert, bring him back here so that he could free these people. He only made it as far as the door when the barrel of a rifle appeared.

“Ah-ah-ah,” said the soldier – not Jace, but they were all beginning to look the same to Mark. He knew there were good amongst the bad, those who Robert had brought over to his side were testament to that. But there was precious little evidence here today, just men who followed the orders of De Falaise blindly, and to the letter. “Get your scrawny little arse back inside the truck, or I’ll fill you so full of metal you’ll need a can opener to take a dump.”

He pushed Mark backwards, where he landed on someone’s legs.

O
NCE THE LAST
prisoner was on board, the doors were shut again. The truck’s engine revved, getting ready to set off again. There couldn’t be many more stops on the journey to the castle, Mark realised that. No more chances, if he was being realistic.

Mark wondered what was happening back at the camp, whether they were aware of the massacre yet? Did Robert know – and what would he do when he found out? Contrary to what Sophie, and many others, believed, he wasn’t some kind of superman. The state he’d been in the last time Mark had seen him proved that.

Nevertheless, Mark had faith. He’d seen Robert do amazing things since he’d met him.

The Hooded Man, as he’d come to be known, was really and truly their only hope.

And Mark wouldn’t – couldn’t – give up on that hope.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B
Y THE TIME
they got back from the village, the rest of Robert’s men already knew what had happened. A sombre Bill had radioed and told Jack he could stop trying to raise Green Five. On the return drive, the atmosphere was tense. Bill and Robert only had one brief conversation, which turned into an argument.

“You should never have let Mark go with them,” Robert said again.

“I’ve known the lad longer than you have,” Bill had retorted, “and when Mark sets his mind on somethin’... Anyway, ye can talk – never really wanted him around in the first place. Didn’t want any of us, if the truth be told.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“It’s true – look at ye, playin’ the hero. Didn’t want to get involved, though. Not really. Wanted to hide and hope everything would go away.”