Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (29 page)

When she returned to the hut, there was a cheery glow from the fire, and the room was nice and warm. Before long the boiler was steaming too, and she was able to brew up some tea to drink with her cooked rabbit.

The steam engine that was driven from the boiler started chuffing away, but as it was dark now and there was no moon and it didn’t seem to be driving anything, she left it going. She’d make sure to put the fire out before she turned in anyhow, so there was no risk of the steam being seen if the moon did show its face later.

A branch snapped with a loud crack and woke Flick with a start. It meant only one thing: company. She silently thanked her lucky stars that she’d decided against sleeping in the hut. Something had bothered her about the hut, and she didn’t know quite what. Maybe the gang tags on the wall, or the big tyre tracks outside. That cooking fire with the boiler attachment had set something off. She didn’t know what–there had been no outward sign, no noise beyond the chuffing and whistling of the steam–but something had spooked her. She’d put the fire out as soon as the rabbits were cooked, but the damage was done, and now someone had come looking.

She’d found a good strong looking tree before it got too dark, a hundred metres or so from the fence, within the treeline, and climbed it. Her bike was nearby, covered with leaves, and she had a reasonable view of the tower, without being visible to a casual observer.

They’d come looking in the middle of the night, and that worried Flick too. Good folks would have waited till dawn, when they could see what was going on, so these must be bad guys.

The gang that made the tags?

Mayor Griffin’s thugs?

The Kingsmen?

She risked leaning up for a better view. It was dark, pitch dark, since clouds covered the sky obscuring both stars and moon, but she could see flames moving around inside the compound–torches–she counted them: one, two, three… At least three people, plus however many more that didn’t have a torch. She heard voices and strained to listen, but couldn’t quite catch the words. They sounded angry though, and there was shouting and banging. They must have found that the door had been jemmied and she’d been inside. Flick reached cautiously inside her pack and drew out the hunting knife.
 

Then the torches started to fly into the air and fall back to the ground. Flick wondered what was happening, and then realised that they were throwing the torches over the fence while they crawled under the gap. The torches rose again and then they started coming towards her, following the edge of the trees.

The voices became more distinct. Male, but young sounding, in their early teens with that strange squeak that boys sometimes get when their voices break. As they got closer she could see them; five boys, some with torches, others with long sticks, sharpened into makeshift spears. Their hair was long, and slicked into spiky shapes, and coloured paint had been smeared on their faces. The boy in front was slightly taller; he looked like their leader.

‘We ain’t gonna find no truda in this dark,’ he said. ‘Reckon we should scram. Dey is long gone.’

‘Dat’s ‘cos you is scared,’ another said.

‘I ain’t scared of no truda! You callin’ me scared? You skuz!’

They stopped right underneath her tree. Flick felt the heat coming off the torches as the boys bickered below her.

‘I is sayin’ we don’t get no cred wiv da boss if we don’t got da truda.’

That got a chorus of agreement.

‘We say da truda is gone, boss give us respec’ for go lookin.’

‘Nah, da boss say we is weak.’

‘You sayin’ we is weak now?’

‘I is sayin’ we gotta find da truda an’ kill his arse and chop off his head and den da boss gotta respec’ us.’

More agreement and waving of spears.

‘Yeah, an wot you gonna chop his head off wiv? Dat little stick?’

‘Nah, me got big knife, sharp an all.’

‘Show.’

Flick watched the boy pull a machete from the back of his shirt and wave it in front of the leader.

All of a sudden the whole world lit up yellow. One of the torches must have been too close to the trees, or maybe they’d dropped it into the dried leaves and pine needles on the ground. Whatever, it had caught fire, and Flick’s night vision was instantly ruined.

Shit!

‘You tryin’ to kill us all, you dumb f…’ the leader started to say, just as Flick launched herself from the tree, screaming as loud as her lungs could manage. Startled, the boys scattered.

‘Dat’s da truda! After ‘im!’ The leader had gathered his wits.

Flick dashed off into the darkness. She was at a disadvantage, not knowing the area, and she plunged through the undergrowth, hitting trees and getting scratched by branches. But she only had to stay outside the range of the boys’ torches; she could see them but they couldn’t see her, and maybe they would give up.

‘Truda! Truda!’ they shouted and rushed after her.

By now the fire had taken hold, and the glow lit up a large area. Flick could avoid running into things, but at the same time she was visible in the glow.

The boys called out to each other.

‘You see him?’
 

‘He was big, man.’

‘Dere was two of dem, and dey was massive, and I ain’t even lying.’

‘It was a girl you skuz! I seen her.’

‘You callin’ me a liar?’

‘Liar? You is a coward! You can’t even catch a skuzzy girl!’

‘It weren’t no girl it was da truda. Two of em.’

Despite the head start she had, the boys were faster and gradually gaining on her. She zigged and zagged trying to throw them off, and the boys crashed into each other, yelping and shouting.

‘You ran into me on purpose!’

‘Did not!’

‘You is lettin’ her get away!’

Eventually she escaped the glow of the flames, and found another clump of trees, well away from the first, and crouched down low. She watched the torch flames wandering about, searching aimlessly and without any method.
 

‘So where is he now?’

‘
She
must have vanished!’

‘I reckon if we ain’t got no truda we should bring back another head,’ one of them announced. He had a machete which he waved about, and crouched into a fighting stance. The leader crouched too and the pair started circling, sizing each other up.

The remaining boys started chanting, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!’

The leader must have realised that he was under armed, only having the flaming torch that he was carrying. He waved it in front of his attacker, trying to blind him or catch him alight, but he was too fast, and quickly knocked the torch from his hand. Then there was a brief struggle and it was over. Flick didn’t watch the next bit, but she heard the shouts and cheers of the boys as they went about their grisly business. When it was done, they left noisily, whooping and cheering back towards the compound, leaving Flick alone under the trees, with whatever remained of their leader somewhere on the ground.

Before long the fire died down and the glow faded to nothing. Eventually Flick must have dozed, because her usual nightmares were joined by headless savages brandishing flaming torches and dancing around her scaffold. It was a long night, and every small noise made Flick jolt upright in panic. But finally a pale grey light crept over the horizon and a new day dawned.

THE SQUAD HAD stopped across the valley, setting about doing the tasks that all soldiers do when they make camp. Lookouts were posted some distance apart along the line of the road, with good views in both directions. Food was cooked and latrines dug.
 

Gradually night fell.

‘Here, Sarge, listen to this…’ It was Brian Morgan. He had something clamped over his head, like a pair of over-sized spoons made into a hat. Sergeant Wailing crawled over to him, and the Kingsman handed him the spoon device.
 

He put one of the spoons to his ear and listened for a minute. ‘Get the lieutenant. She should hear this,’ he whispered at last.

Adam was curious. ‘What is it, sarge?’

The sergeant waved him over and proffered the spoons. He put one to his ear and listened. There was a hissing sound coming from it.

Before he could ask what it was, Morgan had returned with Lieutenant Dixon. The sergeant took the spoons back, and passed them to the officer.

‘Carrier wave, ma’am,’ he said.

Dixon listened to the sound for a moment before handing the spoons back.

‘Damn! Someone’s started up the generator at the tower. If that’s your sister up there, she’s just stirred up a whole world of trouble.’

‘How come?’ Adam asked.

‘Let’s say she broke into the hut and lit the fire. Remember all that root of all evil that’s above your pay grade?’

Adam nodded.

‘Well, the fire and the boiler have set it going, and it’ll attract the gangs out of Swindon like moths to a flame. Reckon we could have a fight on our hands.’

Adam spent a sleepless night worrying about Flick. He imagined mobs of people storming the tower and dragging her off to do God only knew what to her.

As soon as the lieutenant stirred, he got up and spoke to her.

‘I’m sorry if this is out of place, ma’am, but I’m really worried that thing last night had something to do with Flick, and I think we should go back and investigate it.’

‘Oh you do, do you? And since when was my squad run by a cadet barely out of nappies?’

‘It’s not ma’am. It’s just… well I’m worried. And she
is
my sister.’

‘I’m well aware of that, cadet. Dismissed.’

He saluted and turned, as she walked away from the truck in the opposite direction to talk with the sergeant. The two of them appeared to have a heated discussion, although voices were not raised and Adam didn’t hear what they said. Adam and the rest of the troop went about the business of breakfast.

At length, Dixon stood and said, ‘Saddle up men, we’re going back to see what that carrier wave was about. Be alert for anything or anyone.’

They struck camp, and were quickly on their way back across the valley. Near the top of the hill they came across a Romany vardo coming in the opposite direction. It was large, made from wood painted red and ornately decorated in yellow, with a big rounded roof and large spoked wooden wheels. It was being pulled by an ancient looking cart horse, and there was a man and a woman sitting at the front.

The lane was not wide enough for the truck and vardo to pass easily, and they both came to a stop, neither willing to move aside.

Dixon dismounted. ‘Young! Carter! With me!’
 

The pair scrambled to follow the sergeant and lieutenant out of the vehicle.
 

‘Watch this; this’ll be fun!’ Bill Young whispered to Adam.
 

As they approached the wagon, the man at the front, who was in his forties with greying hair, looked down at them. ‘We ain’t done nothing wrong,’ he said, ‘and we don’t want no aggravation from the Kingsmen neither, so let us pass.’

‘We’re looking for a woman,’ Dixon said, grabbing the reins firmly. ‘Young, about sixteen, short blonde hair. Probably on a bicycle. Have you seen her?’ She looked straight up at the man, staring at him intently.

The man shrugged, avoiding eye contact. ‘Ain’t seen no one,’ he said without stopping to think.

‘There could be a reward,’ Dixon added.

‘How much?’ The man still didn’t show any interest.

‘A grand.’

This got his attention, and the man came to life. ‘Hand over the money and I’ll tell you where she is.’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ Dixon said, ‘ You tell us where she is, and if we find her we’ll pay you the money.’

‘What’s she done, anyway?’

Adam tensed at this.

‘That doesn’t concern you,’ Dixon said.

Adam relaxed.

Young nudged Adam and whispered, ‘Follow me round the back, you’ll like this.’ He opened his hand to show Adam something he was carrying.

‘What’s that?’ Adam whispered.

‘Watch and learn kid,’ Young whispered, and they crept around the back. The man at the front was still talking to Lieutenant Dixon, and Adam strained to follow the conversation.

Just as they rounded the back of the vardo, the man shouted out, ‘You two at the back, come round here where I can see you. There ain’t nothing there to interest you.’

Adam and Young strolled nonchalantly back to join Dixon.

‘We was just looking for the back door,’ Young said.

Adam stared at him. ‘We were?’

‘Yes!’ Young hissed.

‘Show me your hands, ‘the man said, ‘Don’t want anything of mine to go… missing, now, do we?’

Adam looked at the lieutenant, who nodded. He held out both hands and Young did the same. Adam noticed that Young no longer had whatever he’d been holding before.

The man laughed. ‘You ain’t ever seen a vardo before, if you thought there was a door at the back,’ he said. ‘Only thing there is hay for the horse.’

Dixon turned back to the man. ‘If you do see her, be careful; she could be dangerous. And don’t forget the reward.’ She let go of the reins and turned back to the APC.

‘We’ll bear it in mind,’ the man said, reining his horse forward.

‘For a thousand pounds he’d sell his own daughter,’ Dixon muttered to no one in particular.

The sergeant signalled for the truck to move to the side of the road and allow the vardo past. As it rolled off down the hill, Adam caught a snatch of an argument between the man and someone unseen inside.

‘Well, how much would you want, woman?’

‘Oh, three thousand at least! Slavers up North would pay top money for a girl like that, good breeding stock…’

‘Mother! How could you!’

‘But I’d settle for two.’

‘Aargh!’

‘Don’t talk to your mother like that.’

Adam and Bill Young returned to the truck, which headed on towards the mast. It parked at the bottom of the track leading to the compound, and the squad formed up outside the wagon.

‘Right, men, we don’t know what we’ll find, so guns ready and let’s be careful.’

‘Ma’am,’ they chorused, and the squad set off.