The Woodman Book Three (The Gates of Hell)

By G. H. Bright

The Woodman, book three, The Gates of Hell

This instalment begins six hours after Duke Woods, AKA The Woodman, has decided he must leave Coast Town.
If he leaves, they stand a chance of negotiation with the small army coming their way, and he gets to go home to his family. If he stays the army will want his head. He has to try and flee, regardless of how it looks to others.

The reluctant hero in the making fights his way out with bow and arrow, and arrives home only to find his family in mortal danger, then, in a twist of fate; Duke is taken prisoner and escorted to Dover Castle. There he has, under threat of death, to fight for his freedom and his sanity as the true horrors of a madman come to light.

Sue goes to other lands to start a new and joyful life whilst Coast Town burns; only to find the sweet talking man was really a serpent in disguise.
Duke fights evil time and again, fashioning himself unwittingly into a hero, regardless of his wish to not be.

Years of peace follow, communities come together, trade and growth, and a network of towns and villages live in harmony with the people of the woods. Harmony that is, until evil rears its ugly head once more. The Death is still out there, perhaps it always will be, and evil men still rampage across the lands too. Will peace ever really come to The Woodman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. H. Bright
• Release date: Dec 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310587375

G. H. Bright

I live in UK, the south coast of England to be exact and have been writing for more than ten years. Please visit my site at http://ghbright.wix.com/grolly to view all books, first chapters and what's planned. The Woodman saga follows Duke Woods in his battle to bring normality to a world gone mad. With 90% of mankind wiped out, survival is paramount for those that survive. With danger lurking at every turn those that do survive find feeding themselves to be the least of their problems. The Woodman is a four book serial and two-book stand alone stories creating a six-book saga. My latest story, Cottonwood Road, is out now. Written in both UK and US English - depending on who is talking at the time, it's the holiday from hell and then some! A burnt out car with n o sign of the occupants leads to a chase from Utah to Texas and back again. IF LOCATING ME ON FACEBOOK; Once there, please locate G.h.bright fiction books (a sub page) or type that in to find my books on other sites. Thank you.

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The Woodman

THE GATES OF HELL

Book Three in the Woodman Series.

Published 2013 Re-edit 2014

Published by G. H. Bright at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

All persons, events and descriptions within this work are fictional and are the work of the above named Author.

All persons, events and descriptions within this work are fictional and are the work of the above named Author.

All research for this work has been undertaken by the author.

Cover Photo; Shelly Bright

Conversion of Cover Photo; Jay Bright & G. H Bright

The author has undertaken all research for this work.

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Thanks go to Shelly, Jay and friends in the village for their continued support.

The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords.

Psalms 55:21

1.

John J took Duke to one side and spoke to him. He needed to speak in confidence and he really didn’t have much time. None of them did.

The Reverend Ronald Smith readied the balloon, Sly Gould barked orders to his remaining men and Frank tried to calm the people and keep them from leaving.

‘I n-need to ask something of you, Duke. I hate to ask, I know what you m-might say…but I h-have to ask.’

Duke could almost guess what John J was about to say. He’d seen Sue and John J in heated conversation, saw Sue storm off toward the boats, leaving John J holding the baby.

‘You want me to take your son, don’t you?’

John J nodded. ‘I know y-you’ll say I’m mad b-but, I need to know my b-boy is safe.’

Duke didn’t know what to say. He had Kufuo, the parent-less child; could he really handle another baby and make a get away?

Gould came over to them, saw the concern on their faces and just told it like it is.

‘You gotta leave now, Duke. Get out right now and no fucking about. If you’re taking two kids then make your mind up fast. The balloon is about ready for lift off and I’m off to the gate.’

Duke embraced Gould, Gould being careful not to squeeze young Kufuo who sat in a papoose on Duke’s back.

‘I was always gonna present you with this…looks like I’m out of time, so have it anyway.’

Duke looked down and saw a red box in Gould’s hands. He took it, opened the lid and saw a Glock, fitted snug inside in velvet cut-outs, and a spare magazine.

‘You got seventeen rounds in each, and before you say anything…you’re welcome. Take it with my blessing.’

Duke gave Gould a strong handshake, words not needed between them. This was Gould’s offering and Duke was not going to embarrass the man by turning it down.

Duke turned back to John J, took the baby boy from him and said simply, ‘Goodbye.’

Twenty minutes later he was airborne, standing beside the Reverend, two babies in his charge. They floated over the approaching army headed for the main gates and Duke shuddered to think what was going to happen to the people of Coast Town. John J was right to be wary, protecting his only son by giving him away to Duke but, in the same instance Duke hoped beyond all hope, that this was not really needed. With him out of the way there was the chance of peace, wasn’t there?

Heads below them looked up, some men pointed and shouted at the balloon and to each other. One man, a large barrel chest, looking at odds on a thin frame and with a thick moustache that looked too large for the face, barked orders Duke could not really hear but needed no introduction to. ‘Get those men,’ or words to that effect had the Reverend sweating.

‘Can this thing go any faster?’

‘We’re in the lap of the Gods…’

‘Is that meant to be funny?’

‘It is what it is, Duke, there’s no real wind so we can’t go any faster. I’ll take her up, see if we can catch anything further up but I’m not hopeful.’

‘Just get me far away from that lot down there and I’ll take care of it.’

‘You cannot fight them. Not with two young babies you cannot, and you cannot leave them with me.’

Duke gave the Reverend a cold look that made the man’s heart miss a beat.

‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave children with you anyway. Just get me far away from that lot and I’ll have a head start on them.’

‘And what do you expect me to do?’ The Reverend let more gas into the envelope, the balloon rising rapidly but making no more headway.

‘You are going back, aren’t you? That was what you said you’d do. Get me out of here and then go back.’

‘The wind won’t allow that…’

Duke came close; almost touching the fat little man, nose to nose. ‘You had no intention of returning, did you, Reverend? You were going to cut and run any way.’

The Reverend tried to back away but in a four-man basket full of equipment, two men and two babies in a papoose each on the floor, there was nowhere he could go.

‘I see little point in returning only to die at the hands of that lot.’

Duke pointed over the Reverend’s shoulder, unwilling to listen to his pathetic excuses.

‘Get me over there, by the big trees. I’ll go it alone from there, just me and the kids. Then you can do whatever you want.’

2.

Horses thundered down the broken road, the riders following the balloon as best they could.

Five men riding hard, the horses already lathered, in hot pursuit of the balloon and the men seen in it.

The big trees Duke had mentioned were miles away, even though they had sailed some six miles so far, the trees were almost eight miles distant, and he wasn’t so sure the balloon would make it before the riders below. At one point they lost sight of the men, then, in a heart stopping moment, they came into sight again, riding just as hard as before and closing the gap.

‘What will you do? Assuming that is, that we are ahead of these men?’

‘You get me close to those trees, let me down gentle…and I’ll make for the woodland. I’ll lose them in the forest, no problem.’

The Reverend looked less than convinced but didn’t say anything. He knew, even if Duke climbed from the basket and made off for the woods, the men would be hot on his tail. There was no way, with such a light breeze; they could make much headway and broaden the gap. The only hope was that tree cover eventually blocked them from view, but even then it was a two-way street. The mob might not see the balloon but, likewise, they could not see the riders.

‘Might be able to get you down over there,’ the Reverend pointed toward gnarled trees in the distance. ‘Drop you the other side, on a downward slope…’

‘I can’t remember if it’s flat or a hill…best just get me down somewhat flat this side of the trees and I’ll take my chances.’

‘And, what about the babies?’

Duke looked to the Reverend, a sad smile playing on his lips. ‘They stand a better chance with me than without me.’

The Reverend said nothing to that. He knew Duke was implying he was a pervert, a kiddie fiddler and a thousand other disgusting things, but he decided to not rise to the bait. There was little point in antagonising The Woodman, especially when alone. Especially when he was right.

It took forever to reach the tree line; an interminable time in which the trees never looked to get closer but the horses thankfully never got nearer. Taut is a word that sprung to mind with the Reverend; bloody infuriating were the words Duke thought of. ‘We can’t get too close else I’ll end up literally in the trees!’

‘Get me as close to the ground as you can, then pass the kids over to me. I can make a run for cover.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Yeah, you pass the children down and you get to go where you like.’ Duke was past fighting this horrid little man. He despised him, hated everything the Reverend stood for, but right now, Duke needed to play ball and hope the man could do one simple thing in return for freedom.

The Reverend was running, running for his life and he’d used this voyage as an excuse to do just that. He had promised to return saying he would head north to escape the riders if they pursued, draw them away and then return on a wind change. That was obviously not going to happen, it never was. He was leaving them to it, getting out while he still could.

The balloon floated down over a sparse area, cut many years before, of fresh sprouting leaves and short thin trunks. To coppice woodland is to thin out, to cut back, making room for the few so they grow thick and strong. This land had been flattened, removing the lot, possibly for building or some such thing, but the trees had, in the absence of mankind, started to take over again. Now the spear-like shoots threatened to puncture the basket, snag and trap it, never to let go, allowing the riders a distinct advantage.

‘Can you get me down there?’

‘I am a balloonist. Do I ask if you can kill?’

Duke spun round to face the Reverend.

‘Have your fun and games. Have your fun and be done with it, because this isn’t the time for funnies but, I’ll tell you now, you try anything and it will be you I kill first!’

Three minutes later the balloon came down in a small clear area of the land, expertly so, even if Duke did not want to admit it, and he jumped out, landing on his feet some two meters below the rim of the basket.

‘Pass down Kufuo…’

There was no reply. Duke thought he saw the basket jump a little. Perhaps it was the movement of the Reverend scooping up the child. Perhaps it was the basket rising…

‘Come on…first child…now!’

The sickly smile of the Reverend came into view over the side of the basket. ‘Sorry, no can do…you stand no chance against those riders and just in case you didn’t know…there are black clad figures hurrying this way too. I saw them a few moments ago coming down from the hills. I’m sorry, Duke,’ he said, tuning his head away. ‘But you’re on your own…may God be with you.’

He looked back at Duke again, the sadistic leer still in place.

‘Oh, and the little boy that’s missing, the one we’ve all been looking for? If you ever get the chance to return to Coast Town, you might wish to tell people to look inside the church.’

The Reverend spun round opened the gas tap and the basket started to rise in the air.

Without thinking, Duke brought an arrow to bear on the fat form of the Reverend. The squat little man, as if it would protect him at all, ducked below the wicker rim of the basket. Duke aimed at mid-height, loosed the arrow and heard the scream as it struck home. Duke had seen red; the rage within boiling to the surface, the Reverend was exactly as Duke had said. He was a paedophile and a murderer, now kidnapping two babies.

Duke felt satisfaction at the sound of the scream. Only then was it that Duke thought about the babies on board.

3.

Frank walked out of the small door in the gate as the balloon faded from sight.

He took four paces and came to a halt. Before him were soldiers and a big man, thick grey hair on his upper lip, a paunch hanging over his belt and outward from his thin frame. He had a limp to his walk and a cold and calculating aloof look in his eyes and the walrus moustache that just didn’t fit. The chest looked wide enough to hang a series of medals from and again, looked out of place with the thin frame elsewhere.

Another man walked beside him too, an even thinner man with spectacles, looking totally out of place and effeminate compared to the muscle-bound fruit bars of the military behind him.

‘We bring you an offer,’ the man with the facial hair began, ‘I’m here to give you options.’

Before Frank could say anything the man, as if reading from a well-rehearsed mental script, continued. ‘I am Captain Burlash and this,’ he gestured to the weasel like man beside him, ‘is David Markham. He’ll be dealing with your questions in the main, but I am here to begin proceedings…’

Frank looked from one to the other, not sure what to say or do.

‘You have the choice of allowing us in or refusing us entry.’ He held up his hand when Frank finally thought of something to respond with.

‘Let us in and we’ll discuss the future trade and amalgamation of our communities.’

‘If we d-don’t let you in?’

They all looked toward the voice as John J came out of the gate to stand beside Frank. ‘If w-we d-don’t let you in, w-what then?’

The Captain smiled. ‘Then you will be taken by force if necessary. It’s not something anyone wants, so you see, there is only one real choice, you’re no match for us.’

‘I think we can at least discuss things,’ Frank said, looking at the now laughing Burlash.

‘Then let’s go somewhere private.’

‘I’m happy to talk,’ Frank said, ‘but not inside the walls, we talk here and now.’

The Captain gave him a squinted look, almost admiring the nerve of Frank. ‘That sounds acceptable, for now. As long as you understand we will get what we want, one way or the other, and you do as I say.’

‘That’s not a discussion.’

‘It’s the best I can do.’

‘We don’t need to fight.’

‘Oh, I know we don’t, I have forty odd men at the ready, more on the way.’

Frank knew he could state they had twice that many but he also knew he could not back that statement up.

‘We must be able to find a mutual ground…’

‘Yes I’m sure we will but, I need to know one thing first…’ Burlash said before Markham could get a word in.

They all waited for him to continue. It was stretched seconds of agony until he at last spoke again.

‘I want to know where The Woodman is.’

Frank looked skyward, his eyes darting right back again as he realised his mistake.

‘Flown away? Left you to it, has he?’ Burlash laughed.

‘This isn’t his f-fight!’

‘Well it might be,’ Burlash rounded on John J. ‘He’s headed right for our assassins. They’ll take him down or track him. Either way, as soon as he lands, he’s history.’

Burlash had also sent five men after the balloon and, unknown to Duke, another five after that just to be sure of a result. He was expecting Duke’s head on a spike!

‘You l-leave my family alone!’

Frank could weep; John J, the silly sod, had given Burlash ammo to use against them.

‘So, not only are you a stuttering fool but you’re related to this Woodman, are you?’ Burlash chuckled. ‘Splendid. Men!’

Three big men came forward; weapons at the ready and one of them grabbed John J by the throat. ‘Our insurance that you’ll all play ball.’ Burlash laughed.

‘You can’t do this,’ Frank protested. ‘I agreed to talk…’

‘That was then, this is now. If The Woodman comes back…or if he never really left, we have this little man as collateral against things getting out of hand. Now, about this chat you want to have…I think we will go inside the walls and find somewhere comfortable, after all.’

Another figure appeared at the gates, a figure in uniform and one Burlash knew well.

‘Gould! Gould is that you?’

‘Hello Captain, I had a feeling we’d meet again soon…’

4.

Duke could not believe he had not thought of the babies when he fired that arrow into the Reverend. It was unforgivable; he prided himself on always being spatially aware and now he had put the young ones in great danger.

He watched the balloon rise rapidly, heading in the same northerly direction but climbing all the time. He tried to block the horrific thoughts from his mind, the idea that the babies were doomed!

A snap of twigs brought Duke back to the present as the balloon vanished amongst trees. Duke sprang into action, the bow ready in his hand, an arrow nocked as he raced for the cover of woodland.

Duke ran amongst firs, down a slope and up the other side before stopping to listen. He heard them coming, rushing toward him unafraid, presumably thinking he was scared and on the run.

The first black clad assassin came into view. They were running between a set of firs, an alleyway of dirt and fallen leaves and twigs, blown there by the winds of winter to break down in the heat of the sun. A crossbow in their right hand, a clenched fist holding a long stick in the other, the assassin barrelled down the alley unaware Duke waited for them.

Duke came out from behind the cover of firs, two steps only and he was aligned with his prey. The assassin saw the arrow coming but could do nothing about it. Travelling at close to two hundred miles an hour there really was nothing to be done.

They slowed their pace a little, which did nothing but make the arrow hit at a slightly different area to that intended. The shaft entered the robe, tore through tight muscle and soft stomach, ripped back muscles open and exited the robe, taking life with it.

The assassin dropped silently to the floor of the woodland, dust and leaves blown upward by the force of the fall, the crossbow flying away into the trees.

Two more robe clad figures crowded into the far end of the fir alley and Duke dove back into the trees from whence he came.

He ran, crouched low, under bough, down incline and up slope, crossing a small clearing before disappearing in cover of birch and larch trees.

Duke spied a small mound, perhaps a barrow burial site of years gone by, and made for it instinctively.

He waited, slowing his breathing and beating heart, listening for the sound of pursuit as he pulled the hood up on his jacket, camouflaging himself well and hiding the give away blonde hair.

He didn’t have to wait long. The two assassins came into view, both looking about them furiously; well aware this could well be a trap.

The assassins didn’t know what had hit them. The arrow point entered the face of the first one just above the right eye, piecing the brain and dropping them to the dusty and leafy floor. They were dead before they fell; they knew nothing of it.

The other assassin dropped behind a fallen trunk, hoping for cover and trying to see where The Woodman was. The arrow, an inch to the right of their head, thudding into the bark of the tree trunk told them of his general direction and that they were mercifully still alive. They returned fire, the bolt of the crossbow falling harmlessly into the soil of the barrow.

Duke had moved immediately. He knew the second he loosed the arrow that it would miss.

He was off through the trees, his natural habitat, his world, and he was aware of it all. Duke was at one with the environment, totally!

He could hear the thundering of hooves and knew the riders had found the first body. Duke knew there was one more assassin out there and that they might well try to get ahead of him, trapping him between them. He also knew they’d have a hard time doing that.

The trees came to an end a mile later, a large field of wild grass before him and, climbing through the rusty barbed wire fence, Duke ran headlong into it.

A horseman came to a halt in the long grass. He had ridden the natural alleyway, an avenue of firs that let out onto the field at a different angle to Duke’s route, his intent, just as Duke thought, was to cut him off and trap him between them. The rider strained to hear movement in the vista of greenery. The Woodman poked his head up, some fifty meters ahead and just as quickly ducked back down again.

The rider slipped from the saddle, a small cry escaping his lips, arrow feathers jutting outward from his chest.

A second and third rider came headlong into the field, whopping and screaming, urging the lathered horses onward. Both men fell in quick succession and in similar fashion, the arrows finding soft flesh and killing with speed. The horses turning about and fleeing back the way they had come made the only noise once their riders had fallen.

Duke reached the other side of the field, ducked through another wire fence and headed deep into dark woodland.

The two remaining riders came slowly toward the trees, dismounted and made their way under the canopy of green on foot.

One fell almost straightaway, the arrow entering his chest and his heart, then splitting in two as it struck rib bone. The other turned to run but didn’t get far. An assassin cut him down with a swift double slash of knife to the chest and throat. It was the assassin Duke had missed and Duke could just make out black eyes under the hood, searching him out.

Duke had to wonder at the thought process of these beings and how they could simply kill one of their own, retreating or otherwise, they were still meant to be on the same side.

Ruthless was not the word for it.

The assassin seemed to lock on Duke the second he loosed the arrow. The assassin tried to dive to the left but the arrow hit them anyway, sinking deep into the thigh. They screamed. It was a sound Duke thought of as male. They rolled, breaking the arrow off as they did so and screamed again.

The second arrow hit him in the chest and a third to the throat, passing right through, ended their battle for life.

That left one assassin to go. Duke waited, not daring to move lest he give himself away. Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime of waiting, the one remaining assassin came into view. They crept toward the body of their number, ignoring the riders’ bodies, and knelt, feeling, pointlessly, for a pulse.

They removed their hood and looked around the woodland. Duke’s heart almost stopped beating. He was looking down from a tree at Abigail, the assassin he had killed days ago!

5.

Duke could not believe his eyes. The assassin below him was the dead spit of Abigail. Could she be a twin? Was it possible twins had survived The Death and become killers? He knew better than to question such things.

The Abigail look-alike rose swiftly and let fly with something from their right hand. A low pitch whistle and a thud next to Duke’s head had him ducking. Too late, far too late, Duke had heard and seen the weapon that so very nearly ended his life. Stuck in the bark of the tree Duke stood in was a star shaped, razor edged weapon thrown by the assassin. The same noise alerted Duke and he moved behind the trunk as another sharp star hit home in the bark.

Duke had nowhere to go except out of the tree, and he figured it was better to move right away rather than wait to be plucked from the limbs. He climbed down halfway, threw the bow and jumped the last few meters, hitting the ground and into a roll, coming up facing the attack. The noise the bow made as it touched down told him it was pointless retrieving it. One of the limbs had popped out of the handle recess; the string had flown by in his spherical vision. No bow and an assassin hell-bent on killing him, just great!

Duke had rolled away from the tree he had thought such a good idea to be in and rolled down an incline. He headed back up the incline, ran for the tree and crouched down to listen. He could hear the light footfall the other side of the thick trunk. Duke moved slow, keeping time with the assassin’s progress, obviously well aware of the dangers and Duke was uninjured and waiting for her.

As Duke came around the trunk, and she the other side, he silently drew his short sword, took two long paces and swung the blade with all his might. The blade made contact with the small of the assassin’s back. She screamed, dropping her crossbow, until that moment loaded and drawn, and fell headlong into the dusty floor.

She laid there, head to one side, blinking rapidly, tears running from her eyes; her mouth moving fish like.

‘You’re either stunned or I just broke your spine.’

She said nothing in reply and did nothing save for the blinking and fish imitation.

Duke pressed down on her behind with one boot, then gave a gentle kick to the thigh. She wobbled but no movement came from her via her own volition. ‘Yeah, I think your backs broke.’

Duke crouched down, studied her face. ‘I guess you must be her twin.’ He watched her for a full minute before speaking again; he watched her eyes tell him the story.

‘Right now you’re wondering if I’m going to kill you or leave you here. Added to that, you’re wondering if I was the one who killed your sister.’

Duke stood, listened to the woodland sounds, made sure they were really alone and no more killers were headed his way.

‘She died not far from here. She had me bang to rights but failed to take the advantage. So I guess that’s something else you have in common.’

Duke could have said more, told this woman how her sister came inside his house, his home, lived with him and his family, making friends of them all, before trying to kill him. But what was the point in explaining anything to her? Why did she deserve to know? Two minutes ago she was intent on his death; she even killed one of her own because he dared turn his back on The Woodman.

Duke, clutching the weapon with both hands, drove the blade downward, severing her spine at the base of the skull.

He looked about at the carnage and knew he should bury the bodies. But he decided otherwise. There was no point, let the animals have their feed of them, it’s all they deserve.

Duke collected his bow bits, not bothering to look for the string, and, retrieving more of the start shaped weapons from the pockets, set off again.

He thought about the Reverend with the babies and Duke’s backpack and the red box containing the Glock. He thought of John J who gave his only child up to Duke for safekeeping and Duke couldn’t help but feel miserable for letting him down. He didn’t like the idea of being seen as a hero but he was more than made up that John J trusted his child to his care.

Duke also wondered what horrors Coast Town might be going through. He hoped they were all right but what he had just experienced said otherwise. It had all been wishful thinking, nothing more than that. There would be no trade, no friendly banter; Duke now understood that only too well.

An hour later and Duke was on the Southdown’s way, twenty minutes after that and he was on his property and headed for his little home in the hill. Five minutes after that Duke stood in the front room with a handgun pointed at him.

‘Hello, Duke, we meet again.’

Duke looked at Hannah, Michelle and Chef Sal, all holding a baby each.

Reverend Smith leered at Duke. ‘I saw smoke and thought it was too good to miss. Imagine my surprise to find this is your home.’

Duke noted the red box discarded on the floor and the Glock pointed at him. His own gun pointed at his heart.

‘Keep smiling Reverend. You only have a few seconds to live!’

6.

‘So tell me, Gould, how did you end up here? I honestly thought you’d stay inside that bloody hill for the rest of your life.’

Captain Burlash was beaming but Gould was cold inside.

He’d agreed to a discussion with Burlash in the Elders office to keep the peace. John J sat to one side, two soldiers, and old friends so Gould had thought, stood by the door and Burlash sat opposite them both. Gould appeased them for the sake of John J, who had been threatened, and for Frank, still at the main gate, surrounded by soldiers. Burlash had dismissed Frank once he clocked Gould and he had enjoyed his ride into town in a vehicle. ‘Brings back thoughts of old times…’ he had said.

Outside the office men were rounding up people, separating female and male and splitting them again into age groups too. Gould felt sick knowing what was going on but he was powerless to prevent it. Pete was out there, remonstrating, but it was doing no good.

‘What happened to you? You were charged with leading us all, what the hell happened?’

Burlash smiled, twiddled his moustache and winked at Gould.

‘I couldn’t face spending the rest of my life down there, I need fresh air, grass, and sun…I had to get out.’

‘But why leave us there?’ Gould exploded.

Burlash waved a hand at Gould, a weak gesture by any standards. ‘Because…because I could.’ He repositioned himself in the chair. ‘I’m a man of action, not a desk clerk. I was suffocating down there, I had to get out, and I didn’t need you with me.’ It was pompous, arrogant and it stuck in Gould’s throat.

‘So you just left us there. Killed your own men and went on your merry way…’

‘I’m an educated man, Gould, far more intelligent than you will ever be. You’d never understand. Sometimes things, unpleasant things, have to be done for the greater good. There was no place for you in my future.’

‘But here we are. You and me, we’re here together again.’

‘Yes, a slight oversight I’ll agree, I really didn’t give you enough credit, or Harvey. I didn’t think until later that he might well take over from you and come out looking for me. That might well have buggered things up. I based a lot of my assumptions on you being the lead man forever and a day and hiding away, scared to come out. I certainly didn’t think you would be here.’

‘And you being so much more intelligent than me…’

Burlash didn’t bite.

‘Harvey did try to take over…’

Burlash grinned. ‘He always was a hot head, that one. How is he?’

‘Dead, just like the rest of them, he’s dead and gone.’

Burlash shrugged, the news to him, neither good nor bad.

‘So, you leave us down there and then, when I send a team out to look for you, you kill them in cold blood. Is that what a good education does for you?’

Burlash grinned. ‘I figured you’d send out a team so I had to take that into account. I gave them the option of joining us.’

‘Like you’ve just given us the option to join you?’

‘Yes,’ Burlash laughed. ‘Exactly, a little over dramatic on your part, if I might say but, yes, you’re exactly right.’

Sly Gould shook his head and looked to the floor. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

‘You murdered your own men!’

‘Unfortunate, I’ll grant you, but it was a means to an end. I couldn’t afford you or any of the others knowing we were free and not coming back. I didn’t want any of the lads to die, it just happened…as luck would have it I still ended up with twenty men in the end…but they, the ones that died, refused to come with us, you see? I did not intend for any of them to die…and I can’t turn the clock back either.’

‘So that’s it, a clear conscience?’

‘Well, I don’t have sleepless nights, if that’s what you mean.’ Burlash said. The smile had not left his face; this seemed some sort of joke, as if this was something to be proud of.

‘If you’d known the truth of it you’d come looking, and frankly, I really didn’t need you in my life any more.’

Gould wanted to punch him but he knew the other men would move faster. They were on edge as it was.

‘So you staged your own death?’

‘The man that was meant to be me was buried but we didn’t get time to dig a hole for everyone.’

‘You left them all on the surface, animals got to them.’

Burlash winced. ‘Yes, a wild animal attack, black bears, of all things, eating dead men…quite bizarre really…and grizzly, no pun intended.’

‘And you still didn’t bury them?’

‘No one wanted to stay around in case more of the bloody things came at us.’ It was a matter of fact statement, no feeling in the words at all.

‘So you just let us think you’d contracted The Death, only that backfired. The bodies were found, all of them, your one must have been dug up by animals…because that was on the surface along with the rest of them. The one we thought was you had two legs. That was a pretty stupid mistake to make Burlash!’

The soldiers by the door became more agitated; Burlash calmed them with a single glance.

‘You were never meant to find them but it didn’t do you any good anyway, did it…’

‘Who was it? Who did you chose to be you?’

Burlash, ignoring the question, stood up from the chair, arms akimbo. ‘My plan worked well enough, I made you think the outbreak was manmade, scared you shitless and, for a time at least, kept you out of the way.’

‘The outbreak was manmade.’ Gould shifted in his seat; he didn’t like where this was going.