The boy moved closer. 'You don't understand, they're coming in mob handed. De Falaise got wind of what you did and he's going to take you down before you cause any more trouble for him.'
'Is he now?'
'Yes,' said Mark. 'And they're on their way from Nottingham. You have to get out of here.'
Robert gave a hollow laugh. 'I'm not going anywhere.'
'Don't you understand? They're going to kill you!'
'I understand, and what I said the other day still stands. Get out of here – go where it's safe, Mark.'
Mark scowled. 'After all that? After risking my neck to come and tell you, you still-'
'Sshh,' Robert told him, holding his finger to his lips.
Mark froze; he'd been too busy talking to notice. 'What?'
'Gunfire,' said Robert. 'They're already here.'
Maybe it was the fact that he'd been the one to deliver the news that had landed Granger in this mess. Here they all were, entering a forest, looking for someone who had taken on a whole unit of De Falaise's men and won. Granger thought of them as De Falaise's men rather than his own now, though there were a few other former members of the Jackals here today with him. They'd been through too much on the road up north to ever be the same again. If the virus and The Cull had changed them the first time around, banding them together against what they saw as the former system, then meeting De Falaise had changed them back again into drones of another 'machine'.
Every night when he slept – when he could even get to sleep in the crowded makeshift barracks on the upper floor of the castle – he saw the bolt entering Ennis's head. Saw what that git Tanek had done to him on De Falaise's orders. He'd wake, sweating, the scar on his hand throbbing.
And he'd seen many more die at their hands when they'd refused to sign up for this mad army, run by an even madder dictator. Christ alone knew what he was doing to that poor woman in his bedroom.
You can hardly talk, what about the girls that The Jackals took in?
That was different, he argued with himself. They needed protection, they knew what they were doing and got something in return. The woman brought back from that village by 'Major' Javier – the man leading them into the forest today – had been virtually catatonic. He'd seen her eyes when they ushered her into the castle. They were dead, like a zombie or something. Whatever had been done to her, even before De Falaise entered the picture, must have been enough to bend her mind.
So here he was, serving that lunatic, calling him 'Lord' just so he wouldn't do the same to him that he'd done to those men they'd caught deserting. One poor sod was still hanging in the stocks after he'd been tortured for information, his screams heard throughout the grounds as Tanek had done things to him Granger didn't even want to think about. The others had been interrogated down in the caves.
It was how they knew what they were up against today: a single bloke who'd shot out the wheels of bikes and jeeps just using arrows. Who'd killed that psychotic cigar-smoking kraut, Henrik, blowing up his toy tank in the process.
Yep, they were looking for bloody Rambo out here.
Given the option, Granger wouldn't have been present at all – he would have been cheering this guy on from the sidelines. This man had the guts to take on De Falaise and obviously had him rattled. So much so that he'd sent along a bunch of heavily armed troops to bring back the man's body. De Falaise was definitely taking no chances.
Something rustled in the undergrowth to their left and, almost in unison, the men turned and fired. The forest came alive with light, the muzzles of machine guns flaring. Even before Granger had a chance to aim, the order had been given for ceasefire. Javier stepped in front of the men, examining the shredded bushes and trees.
'It's nothing, false alarm. Just a hare or something,' he said to his men by way of headsets.
Granger groaned. So they were shooting at Thumper now? What next, Bambi's mother?
'I don't like this,' muttered a soldier to Granger's right. He knew what the guy meant; even with their firepower, it felt like they were sitting ducks, felt like they were the ones being targeted. And they'd just told whoever was out there exactly where to find them. Smart.
They moved forwards, following Javier, knowing that they didn't have a choice in the matter. The overweight Mexican was De Falaise's eyes and ears; he might as well be him. If they revolted, more men who had no choice would come after them. Granger knew that, they all did.
'Why don't you try picking on someone your own size?' came a voice out of nowhere. It echoed all around them, impossible to trace. 'If you can find anyone.'
'There!' shouted Javier, 'It's him!' He pointed, and the men opened up on the trees once more. Except for Granger. He had his finger on the trigger of his weapon but something told him he'd be wasting his ammo.
When the gunfire died down, he was proved right. All was quiet and still for a moment or two, then came the voice again. 'Nice try.'
'Bastardo!' spat Javier, red faced.
There was movement again in the foliage – but this time Javier himself was on it. He brought up his M16/Colt Commando, firing an incendiary from the grenade launcher fitted underneath. He laughed crazily as the forest burst into flames, burning everything ahead of him. 'How does that suit you, my friend?'
There was no answer this time.
Suddenly there was movement again, this time from a completely different direction. Javier pointed, ordering a handful of his men into the trees, Granger included.
Shit! he thought. More orders, more trouble.
Granger held well back as the troops moved in. They crept along as they scanned the area. A guy on his right was the first to go down. Granger heard a snapping sound and turned, quickly enough to see that the man had stepped into a snare, the noose around his ankle yanking him sideways as the branch it was attached to dragged him away into the foliage.
'Place is booby-trapped. He's led us into a fucking trap!' shouted another man, right before his leg disappeared into a small hole that had been covered over with bracken. He cried out in pain, eyes watering. Another ran across to help him, tripping some twine on the floor, which in turn dislodged the stick holding a weighty branch in place. This swung down and hit the man squarely in the chest, sending him reeling backwards, rifle flying out of his grasp.
Granger didn't see how the next soldier set off the trap, but he spotted all too late the spear that was fired from what looked like a huge bow. It hurtled across the green into the man's shoulder, with such an impact that it carried him back a few steps before he eventually fell.
More cries came as the rest of his 'comrades' experienced the same. Spears, snares and tripwires caught them out. Set in a concentrated area to catch animals, they were now decimating their number. Another fell when a homemade bolas wrapped itself around his neck.
Granger retreated, slowly, glancing down at the ground as he did so. Nervously, he checked around him in case he set anything off. Too late he heard the cracking sound below, then the next thing he knew he was being yanked upwards, the net closing in around him and pulling him into the air. His gun fell out of his hands, the mike from his head. He felt his stomach roll as he was hoisted up, only stopping when it reached a certain height.
There he was left, dangling. He took deep breaths, calming himself down. You're still alive, still alive. Just caught in a net, that's all. You can get out of this.
Even as he thought it, someone passed by beneath him wearing a hood. He paused to look up at Granger, and the youth thought that was it – his time was finally up. Then the hooded man went on his way, disappearing into the undergrowth as if he'd never really existed at all.
Javier had heard all the screams through his headset and scowled.
It was one thing he hadn't anticipated, although he probably should have. Having led men into battle in the jungles of South America, he should have thought more about the possibility of traps. But who would have expected the quiet English countryside to be like those war zones? These were different times, though, weren't they? This was post-Cull Britain and anything was possible. The man they were dealing with was a hunter, of course he'd know how to lay traps! Now a good chunk of his squad had been incapacitated, probably killed.
Bastardo!
Javier shook his head. He couldn't let some fucking Englishman with a sense of the theatrical get the better of him. He still had over a dozen well-armed men and There was a noise. It sounded like something whistling,
