Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (9 page)

Rosie pouted. ‘Not till you tell me what boy. It’s not fair, you keeping secrets.’

‘I suppose you’re right, Maggs,’ Flick said after a moment. Maybe next time he’d think twice about not kissing her if she didn’t show up. ‘Come on Ro, let’s go to the market.’

Shea would have to wait.

‘Only if you tell me what’s going on, and who is this
boy
,’ Rosie said, firmly planting her feet and crossing her arms.

Flick sighed.
Oh great
.

‘Come on then.’

Adam had decided that today he was going to visit the Watch. No matter what that woman said, at least she couldn’t stop him from seeing his mates. Anyway, Flick and Rosie were at the market, and their father was busy in the inn dealing with guests.

The Watch were officially headquartered in the old police station, but more often than not they’d be found up at the folly. It was already called Folly Hill when the hundred foot high red brick tower had been built way back in the twentieth century. Ten minutes walk got Adam to the base of the tower, and he was spotted from the top long before he reached it.

‘Identify yourself, stranger!’ The call came from high above. Adam couldn’t see the person shouting, but he didn’t need to since he recognised the voice.

‘Hey Bill!’ he yelled back. ‘It’s me, Adam!’

‘Adam Carter is recognised. Advance and be… Oh, yeah, um!’

‘Pillock!’ muttered Adam under his breath, and walked to the open door on the far side.

A large wooden staircase dominated the inside. It snaked around the walls of the tower, leaving a column of air through the centre that reached right to the top.
 

A distant head appeared, high over the railings. ‘You coming up?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Great. Shut the door will you, it’s letting the cold out!’

‘Don’t you mean in? It’s letting the cold in?’ Adam called back up the stairwell. Oh well, never mind. He pulled the heavy steel door shut.

‘…hundred and fifty-two… hundred and fifty-three... hundred and fifty-four. One more this time! I’m convinced you sneak in extra stairs!’ Adam said as he reached room at the top.

Each wall had three large arched windows, giving it an open, airy feel after the darkness of the winding staircase. He saw the backs of several people sitting around a table. ‘What are you playing?’ he asked.

One of the men jumped up, sending playing cards and counters flying. ‘Recruit will come to attention!’ he bellowed.
 

Adam jumped out of his skin and made a big show of jumping to, his legs stamping up and down and almost knocking himself out in the process.
 

‘Oi, Berry, you spilled all the money,’ complained one of the other card players. ‘That means you forfeit.’

Adam stood rigid, arms glued to his side and a blank glazed expression on his face. His eyes swivelled between the four Watchmen sitting around the table and the beard staring at him. Lance Corporal Elliott ‘Berry’ Smith was a big man, or at least, wide, and ruddy of complexion. His beard was full despite the fact that his head was completely bald, giving the effect of a very large red berry sitting on top of a bird’s nest.
 

There was a brief round of applause and a couple of wolf whistles. ‘All right, you’ll do!’ said Berry, returning to the table, with his back to Adam. ‘Now, who’s dealing?’
 

Adam watched for a while, wobbling slightly. When they started their second hand, he started wiggling his eyebrows, trying to get attention. This prompted some nudges and titters from the men. ‘All right, what is it?’ Berry eventually asked, the irritation clear in his voice.

Stanley, who was sitting in the window seat, grinned and pointed. The corporal turned around to see Adam still standing at rigid attention, eyes bulging.

If it were possible, the corporal’s face got even redder. Eventually he burst out laughing. ‘Recruit dismissed,’ he said.

Adam slumped and pulled up a chair at the table with his mates. ‘Thought I was going to turn into a statue there for a moment,’ he said.

‘You’re taking this all a bit serious, aren’t you?’ said Alf. ‘Choosing’s not for a few weeks yet. You should enjoy the last of your freedom while you still can!’

‘It doesn’t hurt to show a bit of keen!’ Adam replied.

‘Maybe,’ said Alf, ‘but you’re going to get in anyway. Everyone gets in.’ He looked around the room. ‘Anyone ever hear of someone that didn’t get in the Watch?’ Every head shook. ‘See?’

Despite their enthusiasm, Adam couldn’t help thinking about the Kingsman lady and the veiled threat she’d made. He quickly snapped out of it, and fortunately it didn’t look as if anyone had noticed his moment’s reverie, so he quickly asked if he could go up top.

‘Yeah, no problem,’ said Berry. ‘Fred and Bill are on the deck, and Corporal Whitlock is in the Obs. room.’

The octagonal Observation Room was one floor up, and despite its name, only had a small window in each of its eight walls, giving a much worse view than from the ready room below it. The room was dominated by a ladder, leading up to the gothic-turreted roof. Corporal Graham Whitlock, the section commander sat at a desk, making handwritten notes in a ledger. He looked up as Adam entered.

‘Corporal Smith said it was okay to go up,’ Adam said.

Corporal Whitlock nodded and waved him on up, before returning to his writing.

Adam poked his head up through the open hatch and blinked in the sunlight. Bill and Fred were leaning against the parapet.
 

‘Wotcher Bill, wotcher Fred,’ he called as he emerged through the trapdoor.

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in!’ said Fred, pinching out his roll-up and lodging it behind his ear. ‘And what brings you to the top of nowhere?’

‘Oh, you know,’ said Adam, ‘Can’t keep me away. So what’s new?’

‘Not much,’ said Bill. ‘We’re watching the world go by, same as usual. At least it’s dry, even if it is a bit blowy. He’s looking that way, I’m looking this.’ He waved vaguely across the countryside. ‘Reckon you can see a good twenty-five miles today, maybe more,’ he added. ‘Obviously not that way, ‘cos the Cotswolds is in the way,’ he pointed, ‘and not that way, ‘cos the Berkshire Downs is in the way,’ pointing again, ‘but, yeah, twenty-five miles, easy.’

‘Who’s for sandwiches?’ Adam asked, rummaging in his bag.

The brothers nodded eagerly, and Adam pulled out three packages, which he handed out. ‘Fresh today. Dunno what’s in them, but it’s something Flick caught.’

‘Probably rat on a stick, then,’ muttered Fred.

‘Hey, if you don’t want it…’ said Bill, making a grab for Fred’s lunch.

‘No,’ said Fred, laughing. ‘It’s mine, I’m eating it, even if it kills me!’

Adam stood at the parapet eating his sandwich and gazing out over the countryside. Giant clouds stretched to the horizon, towering above, massive and craggy like enormous mountains draped in shades of grey with flashes of brilliant white where the sun caught their flanks. Patches of blue peeked timidly between them, closing as the clouds moved, only to open up again somewhere else. A group of red kites was performing aerobatics overhead; their massive five foot outstretched wings and forked tails twitched as they effortlessly caught the thermals, dived, soared, and wheeled around for another pass. Adam was looking south, towards the ridge of the downs, trying to make out the form of the ancient white horse, when he saw it.

‘Fred, have a look over here and tell me what you make of that. Is it smoke?’

Fred peered in the direction Adam was pointing. ‘Yeah, looks like a column of smoke. I’ll get the corp.’ He poked his head down through the trapdoor and called out, ‘Corp, take a look at this; we think we’ve spotted something.’

A moment later, the grey-haired head of Corporal Whitlock emerged through the trapdoor, followed by the rest of him. He had a pair of field glasses slung around his neck.

‘Looks like smoke, down there by the ridge, near the white horse,’ Fred said, pointing.

Whitlock raised his field glasses and peered intently through them. After a few moments, he lowered them. ‘Definitely smoke. Someone’s got a fire down there. We’d better send the lads to investigate. Could be bandits or that Scav! Good call, Fred.’

‘Wasn’t me, Corp,’ said Fred. ‘It was Adam who spotted it.’

‘Well done Adam then,’ said the corporal, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Looks like we’ll make a Watchman out of you yet!’

Adam beamed.

SHEA GRITTED HIS teeth and dropped back to the floor. Eighteen. Up, down, nineteen. Again, twenty. That would do for now. The fire had burnt low. He shifted onto his improvised mattress and stared at the embers. He’d have to stoke up the fire soon and that would mean a trip out for firewood. He had hoped that Flick would be here to help him, but she hadn’t come today.

That crazy girl, if it wasn’t for her he’d be dead for sure. What was she doing in an underground flint mine anyway? Trying to get herself killed? That was ironic! She’d saved his life, but she’d also given him something else. What? Hope? He smiled. He’d wanted to kiss her–nearly had–but something had held him back and he’d made a really cringeworthy excuse. That was so, so stupid. He grabbed the nearest thing he could reach. It was the mug; that same mug they’d drunk that awful nettle brew from. He threw it at the wall and it rebounded with a clatter. ‘Aargh!’ he yelled.
 

He’d searched all around the wreckage again today, looking for the radio, It must have come loose while the sky-kart was trying to tear him to pieces, he decided. It was almost certainly miles away and smashed into a thousand pieces.
 

Maybe he’d still be rescued, and this whole experience would be nothing but a bad memory.

Not all bad. There was Flick; he really did wish he’d kissed her after all. But now she was gone, and she hadn’t come back.

‘Well Shea old boy, looks like you’ve got to find your own supper today,’ he said to himself. He pulled himself up, grabbed his crutch and headed off into the woods.

He’d just finished checking the last of the snares–all empty–when he heard a voice. At first he thought it must be Flick, and he grinned. No, not a voice; voices. And men.

Shit!

They must have found the sky-kart… He crept as carefully as he could towards the crash field, staying within the cover of the trees. And then he saw. There were four of them, local Watch by the look of them. They’d got a horse and wagon, which they’d brought into the field, and they were manhandling the wreckage–no,
his
wreckage–onto the back of the wagon.

How the hell did they find it? It wasn’t Flick, surely? No, she wouldn’t, would she? Would she? He crept back into the woods.

Then he saw the thin column of smoke rising from the chimney.

Damn!

They must have seen the smoke and come to investigate. Lucky they found the wreck first, but it would only be a matter of time before they come looking for the smoke and found the cottage…

Shea rushed back at top hobble. First priority: get rid of the fire. With that gone, they wouldn’t know which building to look in, so he’d have a little more time. Good job it was the local Watch and not Kingsmen–they were much more efficient. He tipped the contents of a water bottle over the fire. That would have to do; he couldn’t easily kick the ashes around with only one working leg, so he did the best he could by poking them with the end of his crutch. Now he turned to his few possessions, and quickly stuffed them into his bag. The final thing to do in the cottage was drag the bedding out and hide it in the undergrowth.

Shea walked out of the cottage. One last quick look around, and far as he could tell, a casual search would spot nothing to suggest the place had been inhabited for the last week. He hoped that the Watch didn’t have a proficient tracker among them and, not knowing where he was going to go, he disappeared into the woods.

The following morning Flick got up early, determined to surprise Shea with a nice breakfast and some fresh meat. She dressed quickly in her warmest tunic and leathers and was ready to head off when she realised she’d forgotten something.

It was the finishing touch and her plan would not be the same without it. She quietly let herself back in and crept up to the top floor, but instead of going into her own room, she went through another door. This had been her parents’ room while her mother was still alive. Flick went over to the dressing table and opened the top right drawer. She found what she wanted and slipped it into her pocket. Back in the courtyard, she mounted her bike and headed off into the darkness.

The gate was shut when she reached it, and there was nobody in sight, so she pulled back the wooden crossbar and swung the gate open. No one challenged her, so she simply pulled it closed behind her and continued. What was it about Shea, she wondered. She didn’t know anything about him; who he was, where he came from… He was a Scav, but that didn’t seem to make him a bad person, not like in the old stories.
 

The sun was poking above the horizon by the time she reached a suitable paddock. There were rabbits out on the grass, nibbling away in ones and twos. She parked her bike against the hedgerow and unclasped her bow and quiver, then she licked two fingers and held them up in the air to check the wind direction. There was a steady breeze and she was downwind from the paddock. Good. She crept along the hedge line at the edge of the field until she had several groups of rabbits within easy range. She nocked the first arrow, drew the bow back and fired.

Missed.

Damn!

The rabbits, startled, all made a dash for their burrows. Flick nocked up another arrow and waited. Before long, the rabbits started reappearing and went back to nibbling the grass as if nothing had happened. She let fly the arrow and a rabbit dropped. She turned her attention to another group and let fly. Then another and another. Happy that this would be enough meat to last for a while, she retrieved the rabbits and the arrows, and resumed her trip towards the cottage and Shea.

At the cottage, Flick leant her bike against the wall. She was about to grab the rabbits and go in when she stopped. She adjusted her clothes, and then she remembered. She grinned and undid her top button. Then she reached into her pocket and brought out the tiny glass bottle that she’d taken from her mother’s room. She unstoppered it and sniffed the contents.