Reaper Page 9

  We’ll abide by them,’ he said, including Sandra in his commitment. ‘But my primary aim is to make sure this place remains secure.’ He glanced around at them: some nodding in agreement or relief, one or two still coming to terms with being part of a local democracy.

  ‘There’ll be a farm to run, neighbours like Bob to find and cooperate with, machinery to mend, workshops, a school to set up.’ He smiled at Nick Waite. ‘Wedding services to conduct.’ This provoked guffaws and embarrassed laughs. ‘I’ll work,’ he said. ‘So will Sandra. But first and foremost we’ll keep you safe.’

  He didn’t say try; he said would. It was his purpose, the reason he had been spared. He would fulfil that role if it meant his death. Only he no longer planned to die. He would stay alive as long as these people needed him.

  Reaper parked the camper van over the hill from the village in the shadows of a copse of trees. The night was clear, the darkness was the half-night of late spring and they could see all the way down the narrow road to the gates.

  They disarmed and removed the Kevlar vests. Sandra stretched in appreciation.

  ‘You take the bedroom,’ he said. ‘Get comfortable for once.’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’ She gave him a hug that he reciprocated. ‘Thanks, Reaper.’

  He didn’t ask what she was thanking him for and she stepped into the bedroom.

  ‘Jamie seems okay. What do you think?’ he said.

  She paused in the doorway and stared back to see if he was making fun of her but he wasn’t.

  ‘He seems nice.’

  ‘I got the impression from the way he was talking to you that he’s interested.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be a good thing.’

  ‘You mean there may not be many choices to go around?’

  ‘There is that.’

  ‘Whatever happened to true love?’

  He almost said, ‘it died of a virus’, but didn’t. From the look on her face, he didn’t have to.

  ‘You’re forgetting your kit,’ he said, and handed her the weapons and vest she had just taken off. ‘Keep it close at all times.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘In case.’

  Reaper made himself comfortable on the pull-out bench. He lay a long time with his head propped on pillows, but couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to think.

  If he thought too deeply he might discover what he was creating was unreal and had no purpose. Were the reasons his mind had devised only there to give him false hope when he deserved none? After a while, he got up, put the vest back on, strapped on his weapons, picked up the carbine and went out into the night. He walked through the grass towards the gate and felt himself strengthen, his inner purpose returning.

  The doubts evaporated, along with the black thoughts.

  Chapter 7

  THEY DROVE BACK TO THE VILLAGE IN the morning, showered and had breakfast in the dining room. They were greeted by smiles and by children who laughed as they played. The group was adapting quickly. They felt comfortable in this safe haven. They were settling.

  Reaper and Sandra were armed in their blue combat uniforms and looked ominously dangerous as they stood at the top of the steps of the manor house in the sunshine. Another warm and pleasant day.

  The Reverend Nick, Pete and Jamie joined them expectantly.

  Reaper said, ‘Sandra and I are going into Scarborough. We’ll assess the town, and we’ll look for two things specifically: weapons and a doctor.’

  ‘Where are you going to find those?’ Nick asked.

  ‘We’ll look at the hospital for a doctor. There may still be one alive whose Hippocratic oath induced him to stay with his patients.’

  ‘What about the weapons?’ Pete asked.

  ‘The police station. If others haven’t already been there. Scarborough will have a Police HQ that will have an armoury. It may be small but there should be guns there.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ Nick said. ‘To get more weapons?’

  ‘Reverend, it is very necessary. Like it or not, we need the guns for protection, and it would be better if we took them to save them getting into the hands of those with less noble motives.’ He looked at each of the three of them. ‘Have any of you fired a weapon?’

  ‘I was in the army cadets at school,’ Jamie said. ‘And you should know there are four shotguns in a gun cabinet in the wine cellar.’

  ‘The cabinet’s locked?’

  ‘It is.’

  Reaper looked at Pete Mack. ‘How about you, Pete?’

  ‘I’ve fired a shotgun. Clay pigeons. But that’s about it.’

  Reaper took the keys for the motor home and gave them to Nick.

  ‘Look after these. There are weapons in the rear storage compartment in the van. I would prefer them not to be used in my absence, until those handling them have had some training. But, if we don’t come back, you may need to learn how to use them on your own.’ Nick looked at the keys as if he had been handed a poisoned chalice. Reaper looked at the other two.

  ‘Democratic decisions apply. Okay?’

  Pete nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Jamie. ‘But try and make sure you both come back. Oh, and I should tell you, I’ve kept a radio watch. You know, tuned in to short wave for radio hams and checked on the main frequencies. So far nothing, but you never know. And I only do it from time to time.’

  Reaper nodded. ‘Maybe we could organise a shift system,’ he said. ‘At least, listen in for a few hours a day. What do you think, Reverend?’

  ‘I think that’s a worthwhile idea,’ Nick said, ‘I’ll organise something.’

  ‘One other thing,’ said Reaper. ‘We need transport.’

  Jamie said, ‘There’s a Ford MPV in the garage. Two-litre engine, plenty of room and the tank is full.’

  ‘That will do fine.’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Jamie said.

  ‘You go with him, Sandra. I’ll catch up.’ Reaper looked around at the signs of normality. Four-year-old Ollie was kicking a football with six-year-old Sam and seven-year-old Emma. ‘This could be a good place,’ he said. ‘We fucked up the world, excuse the language, Reverend, but we have another chance here. Let’s not fuck up again.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said the clergyman, and Pete grinned, Reaper took his time before he followed Jamie and Sandra. He collected the steel Enforcer battering ram that he had left in the motor home. As he strode towards the garages, he was surprised at the sound of a car engine. A Ford Galaxy with Sandra behind the wheel turned the corner in front of him and stopped. Jamie had a quick word with her and got out of the passenger side.

  ‘Take care,’ Jamie said to Reaper. ‘Take care of her.’

  Reaper got in, throwing a pair of binoculars onto the back seat. He buckled up and Sandra drove them out of the village, one or two people waving as they went, up the hill and down towards the gate. Reaper said nothing, but he sensed meaningful words might have been exchanged between the two young people.

  And why not? There might not be the chance for a slow romance. The moment had to be seized. He got out and opened the gates, she drove through and he closed them again, draping the cut chain, as Pete had done, to make it appear that they were padlocked together.

  When he got back in, Sandra gave him a map.

  ‘Scarborough,’ she said. ‘Guide me.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could drive.’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  He winced as she swerved towards the grass verge then swerved back into the road again. ‘Do you actually have a license?’ he said.

  ‘No. Does it actually matter?’

  ‘Only if you kill us on the way to the seaside.’

  He directed her into Scarborough along the A64.

  Pleasant rolling countryside followed by nondescript outskirts that could have belonged to any town. They went along a road of retail premises and hopeful private hotels and guest houses as they dipped towards the coast.

  ‘Stop there,’ he said, pointing at a shop with a disp
lay of suitcases in the window.

  Sandra stopped and kept the engine running. He tried the shop door, found it locked, so kicked it in.

  He took two medium sized suitcases on wheels and loaded them into the back of the car then returned for two more, before climbing back in.

  They continued down the road and eventually went past the railway station that would have once been busy with visitors but was now deserted. They turned left onto Northway, a dual carriageway that was a town centre hub. The police station was a five-storey red brick building.

  They parked and got out, Sandra taking the keys with her. Reaper humped the Enforcer, and they went into the police station. Being a public building, few people had actually died on the premises and there was a minimal smell of putrefaction, but it hung there, nonetheless, like the lingering perfume of an overripe femme fatale. The doors had keypads. One had been forced and Reaper though they might be too late in this particular mission. Sandra held her carbine at the ready and they proceeded with caution. Other doors had been bashed in, obviously with a great deal of effort, and offices had been wrecked, but the deeper they went, the less damage they discovered. The security, it seemed, had put off whoever had been before them.

  Reaper led the way to the basement where he opened locked doors with the Enforcer. On the fifth attempt, they found the armoury: ten carbines and fifteen Glocks, ammunition, cleaning kits and ten tazers. Reaper realised that he had been over-optimistic.

  ‘Four suitcases?’ Sandra said.

  ‘I know.’

  She gave him the keys and he carried the enforcer back out of the police station, put it in the back of the car and lifted out two suitcases. Movement across the street caught his attention. A drunk of indetermi-nate age, with long white hair and straggly beard and wearing jeans and a cloak, leaned against a wall and sipped from a bottle and watched. If someone moved the wall, Reaper guessed the bloke would fall over. He locked the car and took the cases into the station.

  ‘We’ve got company outside,’ he said, loading everything quickly.

  When they were full, they pulled one each, the carbines hanging behind them, each holding a Glock.

  Sandra left her case to scout outside, glanced left and right, and nodded to him that the way was clear. Across the road, the man in the cloak had been joined by another man with long hair and a middle-aged woman, both as intoxicated. The woman leant back against a wall and slid gracefully to the floor, a wine glass in one hand and what looked like a large joint in the other. She never spilt a drop.

  Reaper loaded the cases and they got into the vehicle.

  As he had the keys, he took the driving seat, which he had to adjust for his size, and Sandra didn’t object.

  He was about to drive away when the younger man staggered across the dual carriageway towards them.

  Since the only weapon he appeared to be carrying was a bottle of Jack Daniels, Reaper lowered the window.

  He came close enough for Reaper to smell the liquor on his breath and the fumes of the ganja he was smoking.

  ‘Hey, man. I don’t, like, talk to police. Y’know? But you should know. Something bad is happening at the Imperial. Real bad.’

  Reaper said, ‘What’s happening exactly?’

  ‘There’s a gang. They take what they want. They took these girls. From that posh school? Took them yesterday.’ He frowned. ‘ Maybe yesterday. It’s bad, man.

  I heard the screams.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Girls?’

  ‘In the gang.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Maybe five. Maybe six.’

  ‘Thank you for your information. You are a responsible citizen.’

  ‘Shit. I’m not responsible for anything. Just don’t tell them I told you. Y’know.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Reaper drove away, turned the vehicle and went back past the police station and the three responsible citizens. Two hundred yards further on, he stopped and inspected the map. He worked out a route, started the car and turned left towards the sea. He drove slowly, silently, easing the car down narrow lanes behind a shopping mall, past civic buildings, round the rear of hotels, occasionally stopping to check the map.

  Sandra said nothing. She knew his intention. He finally stopped at the rear of a hotel.

  ‘The Imperial is on the other side of this one,’ he told her. ‘If we go in here, we should be able to take a look across the square and suss the situation. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  They entered through a kitchen door. The light was dim and he had to use a torch, but it got better as they climbed a flight of stairs that brought them into a smart and bright reception area with wooden floors and red furniture. There was a dead body in a chair facing a dead TV, but the smell was not too bad. Putrefaction had yet to set in, although the flies were gathering. He led the way up carpeted stairs to the first floor and back into gloom: quiet corridors of deep shadow; that pervasive smell of death.

  The first door he tried was unlocked and, as he opened it, light blazed in through the window. They could tell by the absence of stink that it was unoccupied.

  The torch went back in his belt and they crouched low to cross the room. A double bed, a wall mounted TV, tea and coffee, and an open door that led to a bathroom.

  Reaper looked across the square at the bedroom windows opposite and down at the main entrance: stone steps beneath the arched sign that said The Imperial Hotel. He used binoculars to look through the large windows on the ground floor. Interior light was dim but good enough, and he could see partway into the foyer, although he detected no movement. He scanned the windows above and saw a figure move past, a fleeting glimpse that could have been a girl. He kept the binoculars focused on the window but the figure did not return.

  ‘The bedroom directly above the sign,’ he said. ‘I thought I saw someone.’

  Sandra was staring at the hotel through the scope on the carbine.

  Then there was movement from near a Bentley that was parked outside. A man, who must have been sitting on the floor with his back against the limousine, got to his feet. Late teens, maybe twenty, unkempt, new clothes. He carried a double-barrelled sawn-off shotgun. He walked a few yards, turned and stretched, then sat down on the steps of the Imperial and lit a cigarette.

  Reaper stood up, staying out of sight, and reached forward, unfastened the catch and slid the window up.

  It was well-maintained and made minimal noise. Now they had a clear shot if they wanted one. But first, he had to find out where the others were and what they were doing. With the window open, they could hear the soft sounds of the sea and the cry of the gulls.

  They shouldn’t be crouched here, plotting murder. They should be walking on the Promenade, enjoying an ice cream, eating fish and chips. Then another cry, different to that of the gulls. A cry of despair. Followed by laughter. This was why he had been spared. He didn’t need any more reason to act.

  ‘Can you shoot him from here?’ he asked. It was about a sixty metre shot.

  ‘I can try,’ Sandra said.

  ‘Just remember what he’s done.’

  She licked her lips and nodded.

  ‘I’ll get in round the back. When you hear shooting, take him down.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, and he remembered how young she was and that this time she wouldn’t even have an audience of one to perform for. And this time it wasn’t a tree.

  He dropped the car keys on the floor next to her.

  ‘If I don’t come out, get back to the Haven. No heroics.’

  She looked up at him and said, ‘You’ll come back.’

  ‘Yes I will.’ He touched the top of her head. ‘Give me twenty minutes. Relax until then.’

  He left his carbine on the bed. Two handguns, 34 bullets and a knife. That would be enough.

  He moved quickly, left the building the way they had entered, ran down the block and crossed the road at the bottom of the square, using the cover of parked cars. The sun was warm, th
e day made for holidaymakers. Would they ever come back? The kitchen door at the back of The Imperial was unlocked. Were all kitchen doors unlocked? He went through a dim area that smelt of grease and spoilt food, and up a flight of service stairs that were even darker. He went past the ground floor and on up to the first floor, eased a door open and stepped into a corridor that was almost pitch black. At the far end was a faint glimmer of light. He used the torch to guide him along the length of the corridor and, as he neared its end, saw that the light came from a small window in a closed fire door.

  He switched off the torch and put it back on his belt.

  Reaper looked through the window at the first floor landing. Wide stairs led down into the reception and foyer area. It aspired to grandness, but the red plush of the baroque seats was faded and the carpet worn.

  The chandeliers looked embarrassed. The Imperial, like the Empire, had seen better days. A balcony ran around both sides leading to first floor rooms and suites. He glanced up and saw the balcony was replicated twice more on third and fourth floors. The excellent lighting came from a glass-domed roof. The movement he had seen had been in a room directly above the front entrance.

  He cocked both guns, opened the door and slipped out into the open space, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  Music was playing downstairs. Mungo Jerry playing In The Summertime.

  Someone, also downstairs, shouted. ‘His name’s Jerry Dorsey!’

  ‘No it isn’t.’

  ‘It fucking is! Jerry Dorsey was the lead singer. The bloke with the gap in his teeth.’

  ‘You know what they say about girls with gaps in their teeth, don’t you?’

  ‘No, it is. It’s Jerry Dorsey!’

  Reaper moved around the balcony, keeping well back and out of sight. Bottles clinked, there was a slap on bare flesh and a girl cried out and he heard footsteps ascending the stairs. He stepped round a corner and into a short corridor. A girl wearing only a shirt appeared at the top of the stairs carrying two bottles of beer. Her head was down and she moved quickly, as if frightened of being late.

  ‘You’re wrong, pillock brain!’ said a different voice from below. ‘His name is Ray Dorset.’