Solace

By Paul G Mann

Since the Reckoning, Charlie wanted nothing to do with his fellow man. 95% of the population had died. The survivors, sank into a life of depravity and debauchery, far removed from Civilization. They spread misery everywhere! Women and children sold on a slavers block to the highest bidder, or the sickest pervert. It was a way of life Charlie abhorred, preferring to live a lonely existence in a valley on the Welsh border, a valley he called Solace. That was until he saw Ann.
He loved her once, even in the madness. Looking through his rifle scope, she was there. Twenty other women with her, dragged along behind carts, a rope around their necks, on their way to the slave block. Two minutes later, eight men and a horse lay dead. He felt bad about killing the horse.

It isn’t long before Ann tells him he is a father, his daughter sold on to a pervert. With the women he has freed, he sets off to rescue her, freeing other women as they come across them. Before long he is the head of a crusading army of free women, wreaking vengeance across the land, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind them. It is a far cry from his solitary life in the valley, from the peace and solitude he enjoyed there. It was not a fight against slavery any more; if the human race was to survive and recuperate from the reckoning, a return to a civilized society must be found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul G Mann
• Release date: Apr 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463084656

Paul G Mann

Writing never came easy to me, even at school but somewhere inside me I always thought I had a story to tell. Before word processors and spell checks the bringing up of a family and out working to support them took precedence over such things as writing and as such setting my story down on paper was the least of my priorities.Things changed in 2007 when I suffered a heart attack which effectively ended my working life. My first computer back in 1988 was an old Amstrad word processor that allowed me to take work home from the office without the need of a ream of paper and white correction fluid. All I needed was a small three inch disc that fitted quite nicely into my pocket. It made letter writing so much easier and renewed my interest in writing although at that time I didn’t pursue it.I have had a large and varied working life to give me inspiration. I was a seaman for three years in my teenage years; I worked as a bus conductor on leaving the sea to raise a family before training as a plasterer and working in the building industry. A telecommunications factory offered better pay and conditions so I moved into the production of telephone exchanges for six years until securing a job in BT for seventeen years until made redundant in 1992. Ultimately I worked as a private hire taxi driver until illness forced me to stop.I am twice married with 3 children of my own (all grown up and flown the coup now) and 3 step children (also flown away). My present wife Gillian is a rock to me and who without her support and encouragement these books may never have been finished for publication. So if you don't like them blame her not me.The heart attack changed my life. I had to find something to occupy my mind and soon decided the best thing I could do was write. I readily admit I am not and probably never will be the most gifted writer in the world but as an exercise in keeping the old grey matter in working order it cannot be surpassed.All my work is ready for reading in e-book format from Smashwords and Paperback from http://www.Feedaread.com (cheaper at smashwords}

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Copyright 2020

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By the Same Author

NEWTH 1 (The Early Years)

NEWTH 2 (A Time of Change)

NEWTH 3 (Inhanth & Hive)

The Last Magician

Christmas Magic

One Small Step

A Child of Time

A Revelation at Ancandanter

Tony Higgins (An alien by any other name)

Acknowledgements

Wirral Writers for their invaluable critiques and encouragement.

Gillian for her unceasing support.

Cover Image by David Bruyland - from pixabay.com

Solace

Chapter One

He lay quietly on his stomach. Rock still unmoving, only the occasional blink of his eyes showing a sign of life. The rifle scope was no more than an inch from his eye, ready to sight and aim at the first sign of movement. It had taken him years to build the well camouflaged and fortified construction he lived in. The thought of someone moving into the valley, wrecking all he had achieved, filled him with anger, and an inner rage that bordered on insanity.

His vantage point gave him an uninterrupted view of the road below as it snaked through the valley, and out again, towards the barbarity mankind had drifted into after what many called the reckoning. Four horse-drawn wagons slowly meandered along the road towards him. Through the rifles' telescopic sight, he could see two men on each cart. Behind cart, six or eight women were tied by the hands. Also bound by the neck, they were being pulled along, two abreast of each other. All of them in obvious physical distress.

He would generally ignore them, letting them pass as long as they didn't stop and try to make camp. Today was different! The lead wagon pulled a woman he had once known and cared for. Like her companions, she was either destined for the slave block, or just purchased off it. He didn't dwell on what her fate had or would be. Either a life of drudgery chained to a kitchen sink as a skivvy, or someone's sex toy, probably both. What concerned him was that at one time, he was close to her, very close. He was damned if someone he once cherished, was going to be treated worse than a dog by someone who was supposed to have a semblance of humanity inside of him.

It would be a while before they reached him or came in range of the rifle. The time he spent trying to relax knowing what was to come. Usually, he would warn them, they would ignore him. His demands the women be freed, with a warning shot to underline the demand, would also be ignored. They wouldn't listen, women meant wealth, even mistreated women; they were not easily given up without a fight. He wasn't a killer, or he never used to be, but in this world, it was kill or be killed at times; man would fight against man at the drop of a hat, and for no reason other than they wanted to kill. Today would be no different; except today he wouldn't ask or warn. At least today he would have the help of about twenty women to bury those that died at his hand.

He took another look through the scope and estimated another five to ten minutes before they all came in range. He thought back to the events that had brought him to this valley eight years ago. It seemed a lifetime ago, since he was happy in his job as a construction engineer, with his own successful business, employing some forty people. Then the world he knew collapsed into madness. The job and the hours he worked had made personal relationships difficult to maintain, he had resigned himself to the life of a single man a long time ago. Women only entered his life on a short-term basis, soon tiring of only seeing him at weekends. It wasn't long before they moved on to someone with the time on their hands to appreciate and pay attention to them.

At one time he resented it, but as time passed, he embraced this aspect of his life reasoning, when his business became secure, he would seek the loving relationship he craved. Until then, he would work to build his business and his bank balance. That was until he met Jenny; she was everything he wanted in a woman, and he hoped she felt that way about him. It was the reckoning, that fateful, horrible day that destroyed lives, turned men into monsters and wrecked two thousand years of civilisation that split them apart. He hadn't seen her since that day and presumed she was one of the ninety percent who had perished.

Waking at his customary time of 5am, he had readied himself for work as usual; oblivious to what had happened while he slept. Jenny was staying at her sisters, a birthday party she told him, the last he saw of her was when he waved her goodbye from the train station. As he backed the car out of the garage, it became apparent something was seriously wrong. The streets were deserted, cars parked up the night before remained where they were. Undeterred and thinking no more on the matter other than it was strange, he continued to the office. The police not answering the phone when he discovered the first dead body, set the alarm bells ringing in his head. In less than a mile of driving, he came across the bodies of two young men and three teenage girls. From the way they were dressed, it looked as if they had been out for the night and were walking home when whatever happened to the world struck them down.

The police station was his next indication that what had happened was of catastrophic proportions. Two police officers lay dead behind the desk, a man, obviously a criminal, judging by the handcuffs, lay prone in front of a straight-back set of chairs. Most people would be in a state of panic by now, but a strange calm overtook him. He knew whatever had happened was beyond his reasoning or capabilities to fix, and knowing that, he resolved to find out what he could, and seek anyone else who still lived.

It was a terrible time, bodies, not just of people, but dogs and cats in the cities and cows, sheep, pigs and anything that had ever flown or walked were scattered across the land, left to rot and stink where they had died. The air was terrible, in places, it became difficult to breathe. It was a must to boil water for drinking, although he had foreseen problems with the drinking water, and hoarded bottled water by the gallon, storing it in a disused warehouse on an industrial estate five miles out of town. The dead bodies brought out what vermin survived, rats and mice gorged on them along with the carnivorous birds. Dogs began hunting in packs, while the cats who came through the reckoning got fat on the rats, mice and birds, hunting had never been so easy.

He took an articulated lorry from the docks and began a systematic sweep of the supermarkets'. He didn't bother with the shelves, reasoning that anyone else alive would also come searching for food. Finding the shelves undisturbed, he left them for others. Instead, he raided the storerooms for tinned food, bottled water, canned drinks, and clothing. At the end of the first week, he had enough food and water stockpiled to last him for at least three years. After that, he knew he would starve to death unless he set things in motion now to ensure a continuing food supply.

It was five days before he saw another human being, a thin-faced man in his thirties who looked like the last five days had been more like a thousand. He was dirty with wet and torn clothes. A nasty, dirty looking wound, received he said as he fell over, landing on a rusty rake that had left six deep holes down the left-hand side of his back. He needed medical treatment and fast before septicaemia poured through his body, killing him. Like most people, Charlie knew a smattering of first aid, but was never a doctor; and knew first aid would not help him with the man. He needed antibiotics, a tetanus injection and something to counter the puss-filled wounds. He could clean and dress the injuries but knew it would be futile unless the man got what he needed. He also needed his wounds cleaned with antiseptic, before blood poisoning became a reality.

Despite his best efforts, the man, Alan, lasted no more than a month as the poison slowly spread through his body, shutting down his major organs. The antibiotics, stolen from a chemist shop did nothing except prolong the wretched sods misery. It would have been a kindness to kill him outright, but in the early days, he still regarded himself as a caring, compassionate human being, and did his best to keep him alive.

He soon learned not to trust his fellow survivors. Not once in the first twelve months did he meet someone who didn't want to rob, or kill him for what he stood up in. If they knew what he had stashed away in the warehouse? He dreaded to think of what that outcome could have been. Disillusionment and inner anger set in when his fellow man started abusing women and selling them as slaves. When or how this abominable practice ever started, he didn't know. The first inclination came when a man approached him, offering a woman in exchange for a few gallons of diesel fuel. They came to blows over her when he voiced his thoughts on the matter of slavery in a most unfriendly manner. He told the man offering the woman exactly what he thought about him, and explained very politely where he should go, and never return. He killed him, not intentionally, he fell when a punch knocked him over, and he hit his head on the corner of a raised step as he fell. 

It was clear humanity had taken a sinister twist, into a way of life he wanted nothing to do with. He loved women, always had and always would, but he was never a rapist, firmly of the opinion if a woman wanted him in her bed, it should be a mutual thing and not as a slave he had just bought for a few tins of beans. He left his victim where he fell, loaded what goods and equipment from his store he could on to his articulated lorry. Leaving the city outskirts for greener pastures along with the woman who had been offered as a slave. She had a choice, stay and help him of her own free will, or leave to go her own way. She stayed for twelve months before moving on, twelve happy months. He hadn't seen her since, until today, when looked through his rifle scope. There she was, battered and bruised, being dragged along behind a horse-drawn cart.

The sound of a horse's hoof scraping on tarmac brought him out of his reverie. He peered along the barrel of the automatic rifle, through the scope at the oncoming caravan of wagons. The lead wagon came within range, two minutes and all four would be at the mercy of the rifle. Time slowed, the wagon's inched closer and closer until the driver and his mate on the last cart fell within the range of the death-dealing rifle at his command. He squeezed the trigger, seeing the blood-red stain erupt over the heart of the driver on the last cart. Before his mate could react, he was in the sights of the rifle, another shot, soundless like the first thanks to the silencer, took his second victim in the throat.

He turned his attention to the lead cart. Taking aim, he shot in quick succession the driver and his mate. Only thirty seconds had passed, thirty seconds in which four men had died at his hand. The wagons they drove, continued aimlessly along to wander across the road blocking any escape to the following carts. His actions were automatic, sighting the men on the remaining wagons, aiming, firing and watching them as they either slumped in their seats or fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of dead flesh

Less than a minute had passed. Fear began to grip the women as the men fell, some of them screamed frightening the horses. The lead team bolted dragging the chained women behind it; only a shot to the head of the lead horse stopped the cart from careening down the road pulling the women to their death with it. He stood up from behind his hiding place, the sight of him striking fear once more into the women, unable to move chained as they were to the carts.

He ran down the slight hill, making straight for his friend, calling her name, ignoring the screams of the other women. Arms open, he rushed to her, no ceremony, no hello, he grabbed her, hugging her while she returned the affection best way she could, bound at the hands. After a minute they broke apart, still holding her but now at arm's length, while they looked at each other, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

'Oh Charlie,' she said, breaking their silence as the other women began to shout to be freed from their chains. 'I've never been so glad to see someone in my life.'

'Yeah,' he grinned, 'this is twice I've rescued you from idiots, you're making it a habit.'

'Excuse me!' a voice from behind him shouted. 'Can you two catch up after you free us?'

'Ann, can you vouch for these women, will they turn on me once I free them?' he asked.

'No Charlie,' she answered, 'Most hate men with good reason, but they know there are some good men. Free them, Charlie, they will be forever grateful.'

Without another word, he drew his knife and starting with Ann, began to slice through the ropes that bound them to the carts. Most of them just looked at him as he worked his way along the lines, a few muttered a thank you, and at least three actually smiled at him. Finished, and back with Ann, he called them all together.

'You are free,' he began, 'I want nothing from you for your freedom except help to bury the dead. After that, you have the same choice I once gave Ann. Either stay and work with me as an equal or leave to follow your own path in life. Those that want to stay, ask Ann what I am like, and if you can trust me or not. Those that want to go, take what you want from the carts, just leave me two horses, the others and the carts are yours. Talk it through, I'll leave you alone and return in about an hour to bury the bodies, then you can let me know who is going and who is staying.'

From the road, Charlie's home was virtually invisible. He built it years ago by tunnelling into a small hillock on the hillside, the entrance on the far side, away from the road. The earth and rock removed from his excavations, he used to build up the area in front. Once the grass grew, it provided perfect camouflage. He only had one room containing a bed, two comfortable chairs, a table and chair and a make-shift kitchen area where he prepared and cooked food. His current project nearing completion, was building an outside toilet that emptied his body waste into a stream a hundred metres below him. With the help of mirrors, he had installed a periscope device to see what traffic came his way. He was perfectly hidden from the dangers of his fellow man. Wondering as he walked away from the women, he just rescued, how many could comfortably live here and for how long before supplies began to be stretched.

He knew some would stay, and some would go. Not right away, those intent on going would stay for maybe a day or two before they began to wander off. Those staying he would need accommodation for, and while he had tents of various sizes somewhere in his stores, they would only be a short term solution, but with willing hands to help, they could soon build a permanent structure.

An hour later, and he was back with the women, walking up as they were arguing the pros and cons of staying or going. As he neared, the voices became quiet, until he was among them and a hush fell over the company.

'I don't really expect an answer now,' he said with a smile, 'keep talking, but will some of you help me bury the dead before they begin to smell?'

'Are you asking or telling?' a dark-haired woman spoke up. She looked to be in her early thirties, with a nice figure. Charlie noted, the harsh lines across her forehead and face ageing her, giving her features a perpetual scowl.

'Asking,' Charlie replied, 'you are free to do whatever you like.'

'And if we stay,' an olive-skinned woman said, 'will you still be asking or telling us what to do?'

'I will ask,' Charlie replied, 'but I have rules I expect you to follow, if you don't then I won't ask, I will tell you to go and find somewhere else to live.'

'Charlie,' Ann spoke up, 'They're scared. 'If they stay, some think the men they belong to will hunt them down, and either take them into slavery again or kill them.

'Ann, that's their problem,' Charlie answered. 'Maybe they will, I can't say they won't. What I do know is if they leave here, they will be caught and enslaved again, or as you said, killed. You are proof of that. You left, and how long were you away from me before being captured?'

'But what will we do if they come looking for us?' the dark-haired woman asked.

'You can always fight,' Charlie replied. 'I have weapons and ammunition; if you want I will show you how to use them, and when you run out of bullets, you can make crossbows. All it needs is a backbone, there are eight dead bodies over there, killed by one person. I'm not saying it will be easy, some of you might be wounded or even get killed, but the fight for freedom has always come at a price. Think about it, it is up to you, stay or go, but first, please, help me bury these bodies.' 

Chapter Two

The women made no clear choice. They continued to ask Charlie questions while they buried the dead and cleaned away evidence of the slaughter. It took time, especially the dead horse which was butchered for food, but the bones and carcass had to be disposed of to keep the scavenging rats and mice away. Once done, Charlie brought them, the horses and carts, up to his home. He dragged three large tents out of his stores and with the women helping him, pitched them on a small gentle incline, hidden away from the road below.

If nothing else they would be dry, and this time of year relatively warm. He had some blankets, but not enough to go around, bedding they would have to search the carts for, and make do with what they had until deciding what to do. Next was a communal fire and food and drink for them. Here the carts came into their own, each one contained vegetables, fruit and salted meat to feed them, enough to last the twenty-six women a week. Dusk was settling over the hilltops before they were finished, and Charlie wanted nothing more than a bit of quiet from the constant questions, the same questions from different women. In desperation, he looked for Ann and took her down the hill where he hoped the two could speak without interruption.

'What happened?' he asked as they sat on a rock watching the sunset over the low hills. 'how come you ended up back in the slave pens?'

'My own fault,' she answered. 'I stayed free for nearly six months, then I was ambushed as I walked through a small valley. I thought I was safe, but what I didn't know was they had been following me for days to see if I would lead them to more victims. The rest you can guess Charlie. I've been sold and resold four times over, the thing that worried me was each time my price went down. I wasn't far off being worthless, and when that happens, they kill you to save on food.'

'I'm sorry, Ann,' he replied, taking hold of her hands. 'I'm ashamed to admit I'm a man sometimes, that's why I'm here, alone with no one anywhere near me for a good ten miles. It's good to see you again, I thought I had seen the last of you.'

'Same here,' she smiled, 'I couldn't believe it when I saw you running down the hill earlier. I've never been so happy to see someone in my life. I wondered as they dragged us through here if you were still around. I thought you might have moved on.'

'Where were they taking you,' Charlie asked?

'We don't know,' Ann replied, 'Normally we would be told just so they can goad us with stories of how they will torture and rape us, but this time, even the men on the carts were tight-lipped. That was never a good sign, look at us Charlie, most of us are all in our thirties, past the age where men find us desirable. We're broken Charlie, both mentally and physically from the work and abuse we've suffered. Many of us think we were on our way to being worked to death in fields or mines. You, my friend, might just have saved all our lives.'

'How did you do it?' Charlie asked her, 'I mean exist being beaten and raped, my God Ann it beggars belief.'

'We did it because we had to,' she replied, 'the alternative was being whipped or beaten to death by a homicidal maniac. Besides,' she added, 'Not all men were bad, some, most even were good treating us with kindness, I even had an owner who refused to rape or beat us, that included the men under him. But like everything else, word got around about his treatment of us, and a bunch of drunken, half-crazed bastards came to teach him a lesson. They killed him and divided us, women, up between them.'

'What about kids?' Charlie asked. 'I can imagine the owners never thought of birth control or safe sex, so what happened to the kids?'

'Usually taken from their mother at two or three years of age.' She replied. 'The babies then split by sex, the boys brought up by the owners as future overseers and indoctrinated into the beliefs of slavery. The girls sold on to other owners to become child sex toys and workers as they got older.'

'How the hell has mankind sunken so low?' Charlie asked, outraged at what she said. 'I can't believe it, Ann, I really can't. Surely there must be some good men left?'

'We heard in the pens a rumour that a bunch of men, fed up with treating women as slaves, escaped taking a load of women with them to set up their own town, somewhere down south. How true it is, I don't know.'

'So what are you going to do now?' Charlie asked her. 'Go in search of these men you spoke about, or stay here?'

'I was on my way back here when I was captured,' she said, looking at the floor. 'I was pregnant, Charlie. I wanted to get back to you, let you know I was having your baby.'

'A baby!' Charlie said utterly astounded at the fact he was a father. Then the realisation set in of just where his offspring might be. 'A Boy or Girl?' he questioned.

'A Girl, she would be nearly five now,' she replied, a small tear rolling down her cheek. 'Taken from me twelve months ago and sold to a repugnant old man who lives near where Chester used to be. I've seen him before, and the women who know him say is he particularly fond of young girls, the younger, the better.' This time a sob escaped her mouth as she finished speaking.

Charlie was furious, a daughter, his daughter sold to a man who in his day would have been derided as a pervert and paedophile. If caught, he would have been incarcerated and kept away from humanity to protect the children he preyed on. Now the deviant could openly buy children for his own amusement and warped pleasure. Charlie wanted to kill someone, anyone. The thought of what the debauched bastard was doing to a child of his, didn't bear thinking about.

Ann saw the emotions running across Charlie's face. Usually, a placid man who was slow to anger, he was on the verge of screaming. He didn't frighten her, she knew him from old and trusted him more than any other man in this God-forsaken world, but she was unsure how the rage building in him would be released. She didn't have long to wait to find out.

'How many of the women up there have had children, only for their son or daughter to be taken from them?' he asked her, an ice-cold hand gripped his heart as he spoke.

'I've never asked,' she replied, 'but I would imagine all of them. None of us goes very long without conceiving a child, some like me will have it aborted, but others will carry it full term.'

'You've aborted a child?' Charlie asked her unbelievingly, 'Oh my God, I'm sorry Ann, I really am.'

'I've aborted four Charlie,' she replied, her eyes downcast. 'I swore I wouldn't bring another child into the world to live in this tyranny.'

'My God, why didn't any of you fight back?' Charlie asked, bewildered by what he was hearing. 

'How!?' she snapped, 'Do you think for one minute we haven't tried. We're worked until we drop, then we're housed in dormitories, locked in for the night. Those of us lucky enough to enjoy The Masters bed, are kicked out of it once he has had his fun. Sex is usually accompanied by a few well-chosen punches to keep us docile, and a knife to our throats to instil as much fear in us as possible. They take those who have fought back, or tried to escape to a whipping post, and flogged, some to death while they force the rest of us to watch.'

'Ann, this has to end,' Charlie replied, 'I don't know when or how, but the deranged bastards who are controlling this slavery have got to go, and if that means killing them, then we kill them.'

'Who's this we?' she asked.

'Us,' Charlie smiled, a slow smile full of menace. 'Me, you, and the women up the hill. This is our army, an army that will get bigger as we raid across the country, killing anyone who uses women as slaves, and I mean anyone.'

'Careful Charlie,' she admonished, 'there are some good people out there, not every man is a bastard, look at you.'

Charlie had never felt so angry; the thought of his daughter being abused by a depraved pervert made him feel sick. He wanted to rip apart the men who mistreated her, and was hell-bent on finding where she was. The pervert who had her would die, a slow horrible death. Only then would he be happy when she was reunited with her mother, Ann. ‘First,’ he thought grimly, 'he needed an army of willing fighters, and he knew just where to get them.'

He sat thinking about it, sleeping on it overnight, returning to it the next day, trying to reach a plan without his emotions taking control. It was dusk, the early spring sun settling over the mountains that ringed the valley. The women sat around a fire, talking among themselves, going quiet as Charlie walked around them, looking at each one in detail. There was a distinct split in ages, some were still