going to get yourself killed, you know that, don't you?'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence.'
'You're walking into the lion's den, Robert. What do you expect me to say: Good luck and goodbye?'
'It's something I've got to do, don't you see? For Mark, for all the people mixed up in this.'
She didn't have an answer to that, probably because she knew he was right. But after a pause Mary came back with: 'It's what you've wanted all along, isn't it? To be with them.'
'What?'
'You want to die, don't you? You have done all along.'
Now Robert kept quiet. He was frightened that anything he might say would give away the truth. That there was a part of him that still desperately wanted to be with his family again. But there was also a part that recognised he had a new family, that people were relying on him. That he had to focus on those who were still alive.
'Well, you're about to get your wish I think,' said Mary, the tears coming more freely. 'I hope it makes you happy.' She picked up her bow and ran. Robert started after her, then decided to let her go. There was nothing he could say that would make things better. He couldn't tell Mary what she wanted to hear, couldn't back out of what he was going to do. He could only watch her disappear into the forest – his forest – and hope that someday she might find it in her heart to forgive him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
'So, how does it feel to be in favour again?'
He'd first been asked that question in the small hours of the morning, by the guard who'd come to collect him. Javier, his wrists still bound, had instinctively touched his wounded ear, remembering what it was like to be 'out of favour'. He had to admit, it felt good. And all because of his saviour: the boy.
Javier hadn't recognised him to begin with; hardly surprising seeing as he'd only gained a glimpse of him once. It didn't help that the kid had been thrown into the dim caves along with the rest of the villagers De Falaise's men had captured. The place was packed with them in fact, hardly any room to move even an elbow or a leg. It reminded Javier of the illustrations he'd seen as a child from Dante's Divine Comedy by Gustave Dore. One of the levels of Hell with naked bodies piled on top of each other, the masses suffering for their sins. The only difference was in Dante's Inferno they didn't have men with automatic weapons guarding the exits, ready to shoot you if you made a wrong move – there were no exits.
It was a stark contrast to the early days after the virus. Back then you'd be lucky if you saw one person a week, let alone dozens all crammed into one tight spot. Javier had been dumped here after De Falaise and Tanek had had their fun with him, most of which he'd tried to blot out, and every day that passed he'd been fully expecting them to return to finish off the job. Nothing they'd done had resulted in any permanent damage, just some flesh gouging, a few broken ribs, plenty of burns, and a scar in a particularly delicate place that he doubted would ever fade. The ear he had lost before he'd been dragged back up to the castle. How could he have feared the wrath of God over that? What possible pain could any deity inflict that would match Tanek's skills? Yet he'd felt he had no option but to talk back there in the forest. Not only had there been the constant bombardment of scripture – the threat of The Almighty's wrath taking him right back to his formative years when his grandmother would quote from the 'Good Book' – but he'd also felt the weight of the place pressing down on him. It seemed ludicrous now, but it had almost been like the trees themselves were watching him, pressuring him to comply.
But what had made him think De Falaise would be lenient? In his mind's eye, had he pictured a scene where the Frenchman would simply rap him on the knuckles for what he had done and then let him get on with his job – or let him go, free to wander wherever he wished so long as it was out of the Sheriff's sight? The truth was he hadn't really been given a choice. Those fuckers back in the forest had more or less forced him to return with his tail between his legs, an action which was rewarded by seeing his men shot dead in front of his eyes and his ear ruined.
Of all the things he had endured since his fall from grace, though, the waiting had to be the worst. Not knowing when his former leader would return and what things his right hand man would have in store this time. Agonising weeks, with only the scraps of food the guards tossed to him and whatever bugs he could find crawling around on the cave floors to sustain him. Javier's belly had never been so flat as it was right now, not even when he was a youth in the military.
How proud his family had been of him then, as he worked his way up the ranks, before he'd been arrested on suspicion of dealing in black market goods and drummed out. The only reason he hadn't been tossed in jail as well was that his superiors hadn't had any hard evidence. Left with his career in tatters, he'd pursued the only option available to him, becoming a gun for hire. Those had been dangerous times, but Javier fought dirty and always got the job done. The rewards had been great, allowing him a luxurious lifestyle and all the women he could ever desire. Yet something was missing. No matter how much he pretended to be the big shot – growing bigger every day, literally – it was all an illusion. He'd never make Major in any army, because they simply wouldn't have him. And though he'd led men into 'battle', most notably those skirmishes in South America, they'd showed him no respect. It wasn't an official army, just a bunch of mercenaries doing what they were being paid to do.
With De Falaise it was different. Javier was feared by the men they'd commandeered, that they'd enlisted to their 'cause'. He'd agreed to follow the Frenchman because there was something about the way he talked, just as persuasive as the Reverend. He had a vision, and he wanted Javier to become a part of that. They would have power, wealth, sex, whatever they wanted. There was just one downfall. If you let him down, there were no second chances. Usually.
Javier had failed him so spectacularly that he didn't think this would ever be a possibility. That is, not until the Mexican had spotted the boy, his eyes now accustomed to the gloom. The tiny figure had been swimming in a sea of people, struggling not to drown. Javier might not even have noticed him if it hadn't been for that backpack he was clutching in his hands: a makeshift float to stop himself going under.
I see you, little man, he thought to himself, smiling at how appropriate that phrase was this time. I know who you are. He remembered the battle, the fighters involved. One of them had been smaller than the rest. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered seeing…
A backpack, Javier had spotted a backpack.
Sure, there must have been thousands that looked like the one the kid was gripping. But somehow Javier was sure it was him. There was only one way to prove it, however.
Though he was weak from lack of proper food, Javier had pushed himself forwards, propelling himself through the arms and legs of the prisoners. Some complained, but not for long – he headbutted one and poked another in the eye. Javier had to get over to where the kid was, see his reaction when he caught his gaze. Only then would he be a hundred per cent convinced. Determination drove him onwards.
Sure enough, the boy looked across in his direction. Nothing unusual in that, Javier was causing quite a fuss. But when he stared right at him, Javier saw the fear in his eyes. The boy knew him all right. Even in this half-light, the look of recognition was unmistakable.
'I see you, little man,' he said out loud. The kid with the backpack attempted to scramble away. 'Hey, you, come back here. You're my ticket out!' There were more shouts of alarm and protest, the other prisoners unable to fathom exactly what was going on.
Finally, Javier came within snatching distance. He reached out with his bound hands and his fingers snagged the strap of the boy's backpack. Summoning all the strength he had left, Javier tugged the boy towards him.
'No!' he shouted, but it was too late. The kid had no footing to lose and so fell easily into the Mexican's clutches.
'I have you now, don't I?' Javier whispered in his ear. 'Your friends have caused me much pain.'
'I… I don't know what you're talking about.'
'I think you do. They don't know who you are, do they? De Falaise? Tanek? Otherwise you wouldn't have been dumped in here with the rest of the dregs.' This gained him one or two severe looks from the prisoners, but they did nothing to antagonise him.
'I still don't know-'
