The Relic Keeper (24 page)

The trucks drove slowly down the dirt track that led to the farm. The farm itself consisted of a series of barns and sheds in one area across a yard from an early nineteenth century farmhouse that had once been pretty but now just looked dilapidated, which gave the place the atmosphere of a ghost town. The convoy halted in line outside the largest barn and Karl jumped from the cab of the first vehicle and started examining the scene.

Rei opened her door and slid out before Mathew could say anything to her. He had a nasty feeling about the farm, and despite the decrepit nature of the buildings, it didn’t appear deserted.

“Where are you going?” he called after Rei.

“I need the lavatory,” she shouted back. “Who knows when we’ll stop next?”

Mathew turned to Shane, who was fumbling for some tools beneath the dashboard. “Are you sure there’s no one here?” he asked.

“We need fuel,” answered Shane, slapping his large stomach. He laughed, showing a cemetery if irregular teeth, and added, “I need fuel too. Ain’t no point stopping where there ain’t no people, ’cos we need fuel, and we need to stop where people have it,” and with that he slid gracelessly out of the cab and landed noisily by the side of the truck, breathing heavily as if he’d performed a major athletic feat.

Mathew followed reluctantly and descended from what he felt was the safety of the cab. He walked back to the rear truck and poked his head through the open window.

“Hi Phil. What you doing?”

“It’s Philip, and I’m working,” the journalist replied curtly. Mathew stood for a second by the truck before realising that Philip had no intention of getting out, or acknowledging him, then jumped clumsily back down and walked across to the pond that was positioned near to the first truck.

He stared at the dark water, covered with a film of green algae and traces of oil. He’d always liked water. He’d enjoyed swimming as a child and remembered holidays with his parents before his mum had died. They used to go to places like this. A farm in Wales, he remembered, had been an early summer holiday for him. He could recall how he was scared of the pigs and cows, which had seemed enormous to him, and he thought about the farmer’s son who had bravely belted the animals with a stick to guide them to their pens. He smiled at the memory: he had watched the boy, only a year older than him then, in awe of his ability to herd these great beasts. There had been a pond there too. A great dark mass of cool clear water that had beckoned him on a hot day in 1968 and he’d stripped to his pants and jumped into the water late one afternoon. He remembered having fun swimming as best he could in the shallow water, and splashing the ducks that watched him. Then his father had called him. He’d gathered his clothes and made his way back to the farm building, his father watching him with his dark humourless eyes.

“What the fuck have you been doing?”

“I was just playing in the water dad. It’s ok, my clothes are dry, I’ll dry myself and get dressed.”

“You think you’re going to walk through the house like that? Wet, undressed, and looking like Christ knows what.” The boy laughed, realising how he must look. “Funny is it?” his father went on. “What do you think people will think of you like that? What will they think of me? You don’t take any responsibility do you? That water’s filthy and you’re just going to get dried and get dressed.” With that his father grabbed him by the arm and drew him back to water. He threw the pile of clothes at his son.

“Put them on.”

“But I’m not dry yet.”

“PUT THEM ON! Now Matty.”

Mathew slowly got dressed; his wet body made the clothes stick to him.

“Now, get back in the water.”

“What?” the boy asked

“You heard me. Do it Matty, or it’ll be much worse than it already is.” He began to plead with his father, but knew it wouldn’t help. Sometimes he had to just accept his predicament.

He walked sheepishly into the water and stood in the knee-high pond.

“Now sit down,” his father commanded, and the boy knew better than to argue. And he sat there for almost half an hour, cold, bored and frustrated before his father relented and allowed him to climb out of the water, strip, and make his way to the bathroom, naked, to wash and change.

A shout from the other side of the barn brought Mathew out of his daydream. There were several voices yelling, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. He moved around the yard as quickly as his stiff leg could carry him, leaning heavily on the makeshift crutch he carried. Around the side of the building he saw Karl filling one of the trucks from a large tank in the far barn. To one side a man was running up the path and shouting, and although he couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying Mathew guessed he was the owner of the site, and he didn’t appear happy at the convoy taking his fuel.

“You, fuck off my farm, you hear. I don’t want your sort here.”

“We need the fuel if we’re goin’ anywhere,” replied Karl coolly as he continued to fill the truck.

“I don’t give a fuck about you, just fuck off my farm.”

Mathew moved a little closer and stood by Philip, who was looking on from one side. “What’s happening?” whispered Mathew.

“I don’t think we were invited here, and I get the feeling we’re not intending to pay for the gas,” he whispered.

“We don’t want to trouble you,” said Karl, handing the fuel nozzle to a large youth who had been driving the rear truck, “but you have to let us take this.”

“Like fuck I have to,” yelled the man, who was now within four metres of Karl and getting closer. “Now I’ll tell you this once more, get out of here now, or else.” He waited, but there was no change in the situation. “Now! Fuck off right now.” And as Mathew watched he realised that he was holding a sword. The weapon was about 30cm long, and the man began to wave it randomly in Karl’s direction. “Now!” he screamed. “Get outta here now.”

Karl moved forward towards him. “Don’t fuck about with us,” he said calmly. “Just let us get what we need.” The man moved the sword so that it was positioned in front of him, and held it in both hands, moving it up and down in line with the traveller’s body.

“Last chance,” said Karl.

“Just get out,” whispered the man between his teeth. Then there was a dull thud and he fell forward. The rear of his skull was wet with blood, and Mathew stood mesmerised, looking at Karl’s brother and the crowbar he held. Joseph’s face was splattered with blood from the farmer’s head. He calmly put the tool down and started to move the body to the side of the barn.

“Jesus,” said Mathew. “Phil, they’ve bloody killed him.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the time, Mathew. Get whatever you need and get back in the truck.”

“We’re not going with them, we need to do something,” said Mathew, feeling scared and outraged.

“Right. Any suggestions? Go to the police perhaps? We’ll get in the truck quickly and get away from these people as soon as we can. But we can’t stay here, we can’t help him,” he nodded to the corpse, “and we can’t tell anyone.”

“Get rid of that,” shouted Karl, pointing to the farmer’s body. “Is there anyone else here?” No one seemed sure. “Right. John, finish filling this and then let’s go. Where’s Shane?”

“Right here, mate.” Shane’s familiar bulk waddled along from the farmhouse, clutching the assortment of things that he’d found in it.

“Is anyone in the house?” asked Karl.

“Not now,” replied Shane, and Mathew felt a shudder run through him as he thought about what that could mean. “But you need to see this.” Shane handed Karl a sheet of paper. Karl looked at it carefully, then stared at Mathew.

“What’s he got,” Mathew asked Philip quietly.

“Not sure, but I really don’t like this. It looks like a hard printout from a newsheet.”

Karl walked purposefully up to Mathew. Philip moved slightly between them and found himself pulled back from behind. As he watched Karl motioned to some of the others and Mathew too was grabbed. Karl walked up to him, his chiselled features looked hard and menacing.

“What’s your name friend?” Karl asked.

“I told you. I’m David Hopkins.”

“No you’re not. I’ve always known that wasn’t your name, but I didn’t really care. You three are travelling light, and secret, and that means that you’re runnin’ from somethin’. But I didn’t know what, and I didn’t really care. But now I do. This is you ain’t it.” He held up the sheet of paper. The headline read, ‘Modern Lazarus: Mathew Lyle returns from the dead,’ and beneath it was a portrait picture of taken at the Walden Centre.

“Now I don’t care about any crimes or trouble you have so long as you don’t bring them on me. But I do care that you, both of yous,” he glanced at Philip, have brought somethin’ dead into our community.” There was a murmur from the gathered onlookers who surrounded them.

“No no, that’s me, but I wasn’t dead, well not really, it’s just like when someone’s resuscitated. I wasn’t ill, there’s no need to be scared, I’ve nothing infectious,” stammered Mathew, trying desperately to decide which was the best way to explain his current circumstance.

“Look,” said Philip, trying to salvage what he could from the situation, “I think I can explain this better…”

“I think you’d better shut the fuck up,” snapped Karl. “I’m not stupid. We hear the news you know, we all heard about you. I’ve had a dead body in my truck, something that belongs outside, has been in my home. I’ve shared my food with it. I’ve given it a ride, and shelter. We even fuckin’ slept alongside it.”

“What can we do with them?” asked the man holding Philip’s hands tightly behind his back. He pulled both arms back and upwards, and Philip grimaced with the pain. Another man pulled Mathew’s head back, and he yelped with the pain, as the nagging ache in his leg flared into an agonising pain and he fought to keep his composure.

“That one,” said Karl, nodding at Philip, “takes him out the way, break both his legs and leave him with some water. This
thing
needs to be treated properly. Get some rope and hang him. Then we need to set a fire.”

A group of men pulled Philip away, while six more surrounded Mathew, grabbing his limbs and pushing him to the ground. People jeered at him and several spat in his face, someone kicked him hard in his left leg and the pain seared through his body. He looked around for help and could see Philip being hauled to the other side of the yard, struggling uselessly. As he watched through the punches and kicks he saw a young man of about 20 walk calmly up to Philip with a half metre steel rod in his hand. Mathew was heaved upright and half carried, half pulled, to where Philip was being held on the ground. They moved two pallets into place and positioned Philip’s right leg across them so that the gap between them was just beneath his knee. As he watched Mathew felt the rope fall around his neck and begin to tighten.

“You can watch this, freak,” snarled the man with the rod to Mathew as he kicked Philip in the stomach as hard as he could. Philip cried out, unable to move because of the travellers holding his hands and feet.

“Hold him tight,” yelled Karl, kneeling down by the journalist. “I’m going to let you live,” he continued more quietly, “but I want you to understand that I’ve done you a big favour by this. And I want you to remember never to fuck with me or my people again. Understand?” Philip nodded as best he could, all the time looking for some opportunity to move. None came.

Karl stood and walked around the man held tight on the ground. “I’m going to stop you from coming after us, but that’ll heal. This is to remember me by. Make sure that dead thing is watching. Hold out his arm.”

Philip fought to keep his arm still, but it was pulled across from him towards where Karl stood. He took a serrated knife from his belt, half out of its scabbard, and knelt back down, close to Philip’s face.

“Just remember, I didn’t kill you, and I could have.” He pushed the blade up to the side of the man’s left eye, then quickly stood and brought the heel of his foot down hard onto Philip’s outstretched fingers.

The yell made Mathew wince, but he was kept in place and made to watch by the hands that held him. He felt the noose tighten around his throat and pull him back. He strained to breathe, feeling the restriction around his airwaves. His legs kicked uncontrollably as he was pushed to the ground and he clutched at his throat until his hands were grabbed and brought around his back, where they were tied with wire. He began to plead and whimper as he was dragged along the ground towards an area where the redundant fencing posts had left a cross-member about two and a half metres from the ground. The rope that held him was thrown over the horizontal beam and he was pulled back to his feet, his toes somehow just managing to touch the ground, but not enough to relieve the tension of the rope. His eyes bulged and he tried to gulp as much air as he could with every single breath; fearing each would be his last.

“Let them go. NOW!” a voice shouted across the commotion. Mathew couldn’t move, but he felt people look towards the sound of Rei’s voice.

“Karl, tell them to let go of both of them, or I swear you’ll regret it.”

The hold on Mathew released enough to let him turn his head, although the noose remained tight, choking him as he struggled to get his feet on the ground.

Rei was standing about 10 metres from them, moving backwards and forwards to keep everyone in her sight. Both her hands were held out in front of her and she was holding a nail gun.

“I can shoot 12 times with this thing. And if anyone does anything I do not like, first I will shoot them, and next I will fire at the propane container by the trucks. And you, Karl, if you don’t get your people off of them right now, I will fire a nail right through you scrotum.”

“But you won’t do that my lovely will you. I don’t even think you can shoot,” he said calmly looking her in the eye.

“I was Tokyo under 18 shooting champion 3 times and I am really fucked off right now, so don’t push it,” she yelled back. “Now, you don’t need anything from these people, so leave them and go.”

Karl didn’t move. Rei shot a bolt that landed neatly between his feet, sending a small cloud of dirt and dust into the air. He was visibly surprised. She raised the nail gun a couple of degrees, tilted her head and aimed carefully at Karl’s crotch.