The Finger of God: The Beginning

By Malcolm Batley

An action-adventure and love story set in Africa.

Seventeen-year-old Mal is a bit of a problem child with a Napoleon complex, but when he goes on a school trip to London, he soon learns that there are worse things in the world than humorless teachers and faculty. Much worse, in fact. Instead of enjoying a holiday with his mates in the big city, hes abducted, drugged, and shipped out of the countryfirst to France, then to Africa. But hes not the only young victim to find himself in this predicament. Along with him is the lovely Harriet, a boy named Phillip, and a girl named Sandra. The foursome quickly develops a tight bond that serves them well against their captors, two sadistic men named Jean and Lopez. As they make their way across the continent, the youngsters endure physical and emotional abuses, plotting their escape all the while. Although salvation eventually comes for Mal, its not without its price, and the horrors of his African ordeal follow him back to Leeds, haunting him. In the end, the lessons he learns in the wilderness serve him well for his greatest challenge: overcoming lifelong bullying. Batleys narrative instincts keep the page-turning plot engaging. However, that fast pace comes at the expense of nearly everything else. The villains are one-dimensional and predictably (if gruesomely) vile.

Batleys narrative instincts keep the page-turning plot. The villains are one-dimensional and predictably (if gruesomely) vile.
-Kirkus Reviews

Mafia and revenge. Its an exhausting vortex of emotion and intrigue with a few references to black magic.
-BlueInk Review

If danger and a glimpse at the evil underbelly of mankind were enough to make for an exciting action/adventure novel, The Finger of God would earn high honors. The perils that Malcolm encounters are both numerous and horrific.
-Clarion Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496998347

Malcolm Batley

My name is Malcolm Ward. I was born in 1958, in Workington. I was only four when we moved to York. I didn’t learn to write until I left school. I have dyslexia, which hinders me, and especially when I’m writing. I could not write without spell-check and without some help from my publisher. I have always wanted to write a book and now I can. I once read that there is a book in everybody, so I started to write. It was slow and frustrating at first, but I didn’t let my bad spelling stop me. I was surprised when someone told me how many spelling mistakes I had made, and the word’s that I had spelled wrong. Like put and not but. Now there are only a few words spelled incorrectly. Now I love to write all the time. I hope you like reading my books and you don’t find too many mistakes.

Book preview

THE BEGINNING

The young man was only seventeen when he was snatched from Hyde Park, London. Malcolm Batley was his name. He was just over five feet tall at the time, small for his age, but Malcolm was no weakling. With a bad attitude, he would take on even the biggest bully if he needed, even if he was beaten before he started. Malcolm was snatched in London, while on a school trip, visiting as many museums as they could fit into their one-week holiday.

Malcolm would wake up one day, only to find his first love tied up with him, and they were somewhere in France. Once Malcolm was taken from London, he would find the lovely Harriet, and a young boy called Philip, tied up just like him. They were inside a cold and dark cellar, where they would come to know one another.

Harriet and Philip had being taken from the streets, just like Malcolm had been. They were taken from London to a hot and hostile land they called Hell. They would be badly beaten by their sadistic kidnappers, but Malcolm wasn’t one who would give in without a fight. No matter how small he was or what they did to him.

Malcolm had fallen in love for the first time, but he would have to watch some of the others die at the hands of their kidnappers. Malcolm had to grow up fast, especially if he wanted to take his new love home with him, but not with the Serpent looking for him. They had over two hundred miles of hostile land to cross before they would be safe, land filled with the wild animals you find in Africa. Luckily, Malcolm had defended a witch doctor while on the run.

Malcolm had saved the witch doctor’s life, so the witch doctor gave all his magic to Malcolm, even if Malcolm didn’t want the witch doctor’s powerful magic.

But I don’t want it. I don’t believe in magic! Malcolm told the witch doctor.

But you have it all now! said the witch doctor. You have it all. But to use the magic, you have to believe in it first. Then say it right!

The black mamba came crashing down, just missing Malcolm. Then the big cobra came crashing down alongside the black mamba. The cobra was as long as the room, and wider than the door. The serpents quickly coiled themselves around and around Malcolm. Malcolm screamed, but his cries weren’t heard with all the hissing, and with them being so deep down underneath the castle. Yes I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. This was to be the book cover.

AFRICA

I sat down on the bed once more. I had already paced the cell for well over an hour, wondering how long the guard would be with my dinner this time. They’d already had me locked up in this cell for over six weeks, but still they wouldn’t let me telephone home. All the time I was in Africa, I only had one thing on my mind. Where did it all go wrong? Well, that would be at the start, but I could no longer remember that far back. I often dreamed of home, of fishing with my dad and playing football on a Saturday afternoon. Well, today was going to be hot, and I had nothing better to do except try and remember.

Guard, where’s my water? I shouted for the tenth time. And when can I have my walk?

Then I suddenly started to remember, and it felt like only a day had passed. But how could I have forgotten some of the worst days of my life?

HOME, ENGLAND

It was raining once more, and it was Saturday. Football didn’t kick off until three o’clock, so the rain had time to pass over. If the football pitch wasn’t waterlogged, then I would be playing today, just like I had every Saturday. Football was something I was good at, apart from getting into trouble, even with me being the smallest player on the whole pitch. At seventeen, I was just over five and a half feet tall, but my size wasn’t something that you laughed about. The other team did that for you, and their supporters, who would shout at me every time I ran with the football.

Run, Shorty! they’d shout. Or it would be, You’re on the wrong pitch. The juniors are playing tomorrow! Then I would hear them all laughing, but I had learnt to let it go.

I would be kicked around by the other team, but I was still the fastest player on the pitch, and I nearly always scored a goal. To play like I did, you needed to be fast just to survive to the end. I had always played football on a Saturday or Sunday. If there was no football, then I would go fishing for the whole day, come rain or shine.

Football and fishing were my only hobbies. Dad and I would go down to the river at every opportunity we could. I would take time off school in the summer too, even if the weather was bad. It was better than getting bullied, especially since I was the smallest in class. Most of the first years were bigger than I was. When I was in my last year at college, I looked like I should be going back to school. I think the teachers were looking forward to me leaving. They had even held a leaving party for me at junior school. For some reason I was always getting into trouble and I would be sent home, but I would only go fishing, hoping my twin sister didn’t find out. If she did, she would then tell one of the teachers, who would then tell my dad, and then I would be in for it.

If I look back at my time at junior school, I was always being sent home. It was either for fighting or I would just lose my temper. I could never remember what started my bad temper. I would either come around with one of the teachers holding me down, or it would be my father. Sometimes even my mother was holding me down. Then I would be taken out of school for the rest of the day, or even for the rest of the week. My rage was horrific at first, but the older I became; the more I could control it. While I was at secondary school, the bullies started tormenting me just so they could watch me fighting with the teachers. Once they pushed me too far, I would spend a lot of time at home, with my backside as red as a lobster.

We lived just outside Leeds in Yorkshire. Leeds was so rough where we lived, even the dogs walked around in packs, and I wasn’t allowed out after nine or when it was dark. It wasn’t that I was always good at home. I would get into trouble with the entire neighbourhood at times, or the police. Even when I was little, I would fight nonstop all day. My mother would hold me down until I had settled, unless I went ballistic and she couldn’t control me. Then my father would have to come, and he would hold me down while my mother gave me something to calm me. When I was quiet again, sometimes I would even find the doctor with them.

The older I became, the longer they had to hold me down. One day the school head said, I couldn’t come back to school until I could behave myself. So my mother took me to see the doctors at the hospital. I was put on some stronger medication, just so I would be allowed back at school, but every so often I would still lose control.

I remember being in bed one day. The weather was wet, and it was still raining, but on a Saturday morning, we would sometimes play in the rain. I remember my mother was shouting from the bottom of the stairs.

Move yourself, Malcolm, or you’ll miss football! she called.

But I must have fallen back to sleep; and I had forgotten that we were now playing football on Saturday mornings, since our pitch was being used for Sunday’s football team. They were going to hold the local summer gala this Sunday, especially if the rain held off. Forgetting was something else I was good at, or so my mother kept on telling me.

I’m on my way, Mum, I shouted down, a bit louder than I intended.

There was no stopping me now. I had twenty minutes to get to the football pitch, or I wouldn’t get a game. I was lucky we were playing at home this weekend, and lucky I lived next to our pitch, but it was still raining heavily.

You’re not going to play football in this weather are you, Mal? my sister shouted from her bedroom next door.

On Sundays I would go fishing with my dad, and Linda wouldn’t come. Who wants some girl nagging them all the time anyway? Well, maybe now and again wouldn’t be that bad.

Then there was Monday, and as usual I was late getting up. I was woken by Linda, and then I heard my father shouting.

Malcolm, time to get out of that bed or you’ll be late for college. Now! he added, and then shut the front door behind him.

Well, that was my dad off to work. He’s six foot six, weighing in at fifteen stone. He keeps fit by working as a builder, which he’s being doing all his working life. That’s why no one in our street messed with him, even with his fat beer belly. He wants me to follow in his footsteps, just so I have a trade, which will help me grow strong like he did. So he keeps telling me nonstop.

He says I’ll stay under six feet for the rest of my life if I don’t get myself a man’s job, but I intend on working with old wooden furniture someday. It may sound boring, but there’s a lot of money in old furniture. It’s better than working on some dirty building site any day.

Frank, that’s my dad’s name, he’s been married to my mum for twenty-five years now. His hobby is fishing, which he always does on a weekend, and that’s good for me. Well, now he was out the door and on his way to work, so I just turned over. I had at least five more minutes before the race was on to get ready.

I always left it to the last minute before I got out of bed in the morning, and the night before I hadn’t slept very well. I didn’t know why. It might have been one of my bad dreams. I used to dream of football all the time, and fishing with my dad. I would be running down the pitch with the ball, but not getting anywhere; or I would be trying to reel in this big fish, but the fish would just swim off. Not now, though.

Now I had nightmares. I woke up all hot and soaked in sweat. I would have to look down at myself just to make sure I was all there and that I wouldn’t find a long monkey’s tail wrapped around my leg or bits of me missing. Yes, my nightmares were that horrifying.

Malcolm! my mother screamed. If you don’t get out of that bed right now, you’re going to be late for the bus. Then you’ll miss your trip to London, so get out now, you lazy little sod. Are you listening to me up there? I don’t know … That lad will be the death of me, Linda.

Trip? I shouted back down.

I quickly pulled the covers off my head. I had to have a think. It was the trip to London that she was talking about. I had been invited to go with the college this year, even with all my learning difficulties. The college had paid for the trip, something to do with the options course I was on, so I had to go.

We were going to see as many museums as we could fit in to the five days we would be there. I was especially looking forward to the Geffrye Museum. The Geffrye was founded in 1914, specializing in the history of English domestic interiors. The museum explores homes over the past seven hundred years, from the fourteenth century to the present day. I was hoping to see all the old furniture there.

That’s next week, Mum!

Malcolm, what planet are you living on? It’s Monday the fourteenth today, shouted Linda, my big sister. She was running into the bathroom, and believe me, nobody gets in the way of my twin sister. Not even my dad would.

Linda’s almost as tall as my dad. She’s around four stone heavier than I am. So with her being five foot ten and weighing in at twelve stone, she plays rugby for our local team. Linda has dyed her hair blonde—it falls right down her back—while we all have brown hair. I think Linda still thinks she’s a sweet little sixteen-year-old. Well, she’s seventeen now and she is definitely not sweet. And there’s her loud shout. Believe me; her shouting will get anyone out of bed.

I’m up and getting dressed, Mum. Is my rucksack down there? Have I got time for some breakfast, Mum?

Yes, you have plenty of time. Have you had a good wash? I rushed down the stairs and past her. Here’s your rucksack, Malcolm.

Breakfast was always on the run. Coat on, toast in mouth, jump on bike, and then bike to college, going like the clappers.

I was just about to go out the door when my mum said, Where do you think you’re going, Malcolm?

I stopped and stood still for a moment. Had I heard her right?

Linda came back into the room. It’s only seven o’clock, she said, and laughed. We had to do something that would get you out of that pit you call a bed. You would have missed the bus, getting up at seven thirty.

Well, that was that. Saved yet again. I said goodbye to them both and gave them both a kiss on the cheek. Then I made for the door once more, but they asked me if I’d remembered everything. I told them that I had and was just about to leave, when my mum said, Then you’ll have all your money, Malcolm, won’t you? And it’s a good job I repacked your bag for you too. You only had three boxer shorts stuffed inside.

I said thank you to my mother, kissed them both once more, and then ran through the door at last. I just reached the bus on time, with my rucksack in one hand, pen and book in the other one, and there waiting for me outside the bus was Mr Rudd.

Mr Rudd might look around fifty-something and was almost bald, but he was also six foot six and weighed around seventeen stone, so you just didn’t get in his way. Well, I didn`t anyway. We all worked hard and behaved when we were in his class, but then it was always me he was telling off. The only thing wrong with Mr Rudd was he always wore odd-looking clothes and old-fashioned jackets. Most of them were all brown. And he spoke in a deep northern accent which cut straight through your ears.

Well, Malcolm, he said. We all had bets on whether you would be here on time. I was just about to tell the driver to set off without you.

Mr Rudd even looked like he meant it. Lots of laughing and some booing came from the bus.

Go sit down, said Mr Rudd. Right! We can go now, driver.

Then we were on our way. We would be stuck inside this bus for four hours. I wished I could have brought a fishing book with me, just to pass the time. Instead, we had to sit there and write down all the buildings of interest we saw on the way. Well, I must have slept most of the way there, since there wasn’t much written down in my book. When we reached a bus station, which was halfway there, it was one big scramble from the bus to the toilets. We ended up staying at the bus station for half an hour while we all visited the toilets. Then we went to the toilets once we reached the bus station at London, and to the Underground toilets on the way to the hotel.

I didn’t like the Underground, especially with me being so small. I was pushed all over the place. At one point, Mr Rudd had to take hold of me and drag me behind him, right until we were out of the crowds. Then I had to be pulled onto a train. I had stopped to take a look at a big map of London, which coved a whole wall. I hadn’t noticed everyone else getting onto the next train. The next thing I knew, I was being pulled onto the train, and just in time too. But my bum got stuck inside the door when it closed, so I had to be pulled out of the door too. Well, it gave them something to laugh about, which they all seemed to do a great deal of. Even the teachers would laugh at me.

We all walked across a road on the way to the hotel, and somebody who was walking past us said, You should have put the little one inside a pram. Then you could all walk over the crossing faster.

Again, they all had a good laugh at me. I decided I liked the Underground now.

By the time we reached the hotel, most of the girls and one or two teachers had to go pee yet again. We had reached the hotel by teatime, which meant one thing to me—food! We had to wait for that until we’d all booked into the hotel.

The hotel was tall and slim. It must have been at least six stories high, and it was painted different shades of yellow. We had to sign in before we went up to our rooms, and our rooms just had to be on the top floor. We were all done in by the time we’d reached them. My room was decorated with large red and pink flowered wallpaper, which didn’t go down well with me and my two mates. It had three small beds, each pushed against a wall. On the fourth wall, three small chests of drawers stood just under a window.

Philip, John, and I shared the room, and because we were all mates, there would be no bullying. John and I had been friends from infant school, and we were both on the college’s football team. We also lived in the same street, and John’s my best friend.

As for Philip, he and I went back a long way. I just had to let him know who the boss was now and then. We never had fought each other, but we always play fought. Some of the other boys did nothing but bully us, since both of us were so small. In the end we just let them, and so did most of the teachers. It had been the same all through school, and if we were to say something to the teachers, they would only say something like, What are you, a man or a mouse?

It was well past teatime when we were told to get ready to go out for our late supper. We were all starving, and what a long walk we had to get there. Yes, we had to walk to a restaurant for all our meals. When we eventually reached the restaurant, we were let down once we were inside. It was only a small back-street restaurant, with just enough seats for us all. But then, there were twenty of us, plus the teachers.

We were all full of excitement until we sat down. The bread was already on the table waiting for us, but it looked like it had been there all day. Thank God someone asked for it to be replaced.

A waiter replaced the bread, so we all cheered him on, and then a few waiters brought soup. It had been vegetable soup to start with, but it was almost cold and had only one or two bits of vegetables floating on top. Some twenty minutes later, the waiters removed our soup bowls, and then it was time for the main course. It was bangers and mash or fish and chips, which were nothing but a letdown, especially for me. We had fish and chips on Friday at college. On Saturday, I had sausages and mash at home, so we all started moaning.

I hope the puddings not a letdown, Phil, I said to him, a sad look on my face.

Me too, Mal, replied Phil, a sad look on his face too.

You lot stop moaning, one of the teachers, Mr Steel, said. You’re lucky you’re getting dinner, especially at this time of night.

Yes, sir.

Yes, sir.

Sorry, sir.

That’s how it was with Mr Steel. He used to be a sergeant in the army, and sometimes he still thinks he is. He shouts at the top of his voice and is very strict. He is forty-seven, six foot two, with short brown hair, and he always wears a nice suit. It only leaves his big nose and thick black glasses to laugh about, so long as he doesn’t hear you. If he does, he’ll come down on you for the rest of the week.

Finally, it was time for pudding. We had all seen the menu board hanging off the walls, so we were all hoping to have the black forest gateau or sticky toffee pudding, but what did we get? Round doughnuts. I shouted a little too loudly about that, which didn’t go down well. The doughnuts didn’t even look fit for a dog to eat.

We were all glad that Mrs Shepherd complained to one of the waiters about the food. Poor quality! she said, and if it didn’t get any better, she would be putting in a complaint to the manager. We’d just seen him running into the kitchen, out of the way. Good old Mrs Shepherd, always complaining about the food at college too. She never backed down, no matter where she was.

Mrs Shepherd’s only five foot one, and no one knows how old she is. It’s a well-guarded secret of hers. If you have a problem, you can always talk to her. All the girls do, what with her being one of the college’s first aiders. You don’t dare laugh at the hairs on the end of her chin, and you can’t mention how well built she looks in the big blue dress she always wears, week in and week out. Not like I did on my first day. I had to stay in with her instead of playing football, writing one hundred lines. It isn’t nice to make fun of other people, and it’s not well-mannered, but it didn’t take me long to insult her the first time I met her.

I think out of all the female teachers, Mrs Shepherd has the best smile, on that large round face of hers, and she looked okay for her age, whatever that was. But when she was telling you off, it was frightening.

Batley! she snapped at me. Get a move on, will you. You’re always the last one, Batley. It’s a wonder you’re still here.

Yes, miss! My shoelace keeps coming undone.

… …

It was dark when we eventually left the restaurant, and the streets were even busier than they’d been early on, which surprised me. I forgot that London came to life at night. Nobody talked much while we walking back to our hotel. Those that did muttered about our supper and how unhealthy the food had been. We had to persuade one of the teachers into letting us go to the shop for some more food, which cost an arm and a leg.

Malcolm! Mr Steel shouted. Will you stop that dawdling and catch up?

Well that’s me, always the last one.

Yes, sir, I politely replied.

I was just too occupied with looking round at all the bright lights. I had never seen anything like it. It was then that I noticed the same two people walking behind me, so I quickly caught up with John. But he was rushing to the front himself, so I couldn’t stay with him for long. Not with my new shoes hurting my feet and the laces coming undone. Then with my short legs, I had to run just so I could catch up with them.

John! I said when I got alongside him. Do you think we’re being followed? That’s the same two people I saw standing outside the restaurant, while we were eating. I think I saw them waiting outside the hotel too. And at the bus stop. Now they’re at this park. What park did Mr Steel say this is? Was it Hyde Park?

Yes, Mal. And it looks like we’ve just missed the bus, so let’s go. I want to get to bed. John yawned. It’s well past midnight.

I’m coming, John. Just tying my shoelaces up. My feet are killing me with these bloody new shoes, and all this walking.

… …

That’s all I could remember about that night in London. One minute I was tying my laces inside Hyde Park. Then this lady was suddenly standing right in front of me, wearing a long skirt. She asked me if there was a big brown owl on the branch above me, so what did I go and do? I looked up, but there was nothing there.

The last thing I saw was a hand going over my mouth. I felt someone standing right behind me. I could smell the beer on his breath, but it wasn’t as bad as the smell coming off the cloth in his hand. My head started to spin. Something was burning my eyes and lips. I just had time to see two women putting me into a wheelchair, and then it felt like I was moving. I couldn’t shout, though. I just became sleepier and sleepier.

I can’t remember how I arrived here, but when I woke up, I was lying in a dirty cellar. My head was banging like it had been stood on. My mouth was dry and hot, and my lips were burning. When I eventually got my eyes open and I could focus, I saw I was on my own. There were just four walls, a door, and a bucket, so I started shouting as loudly as I could.

Help! Hello? Is anyone out there?

I shouted and shouted, but nobody came running to rescue me. Days seemed to pass before I saw some light shining under the door. The light shone along the cold stone floor, highlighting all the dust. I ran over to the wooden door and started kicking the shit out of it, shouting as I did.

Hello? Help! Will you open this door? I shouted over and over. It’s not funny anymore.

Then I heard what sounded like someone running down a set of stairs. The door suddenly flew open, and someone or something hit me in the face, knocking me down.

Shut the fuck up, or I’ll shut you up. It was woman’s voice, and that was all she said to me.

I didn’t even get to see who she was. I just smelled the beer on her already bad breath. When I finally picked myself up off the floor, the room was dark again. I walked back towards the door, but there was nobody there now, and the door was locked. That’s when I put my foot in it! Yes! The food she’d left for me on the floor, but I still ate it. Beef and pickle sandwiches and one cold sausage roll, and it tasted better than the restaurant’s food. Remembering the restaurant didn’t help me. Why was I here? Who were these women, and what did they want with me?

I kept asking myself those questions, but I didn’t have any answers. After I ate, I lay on the floor, yelling and sobbing like a baby.

Please! Please come and get me out of here, Dad. What have I done? Help me. Help! Please help me, Dad. I kept sobbing, wiping away the tears which fell down my face.

I don’t know how long they kept me down there for, but again, it seemed like days. Then I heard some cockney voices some distance away—maybe at the top of the stairs?—so I quickly walked towards the door, but I just listened this time. I heard a man’s voice, and then a woman spoke.

Help me! I screamed at the top of my voice. What do you want with me?

Shut the fuck up, the man with the cockney accent shouted, and he sounded drunk.

I heard running footsteps again. It sounded like two people were racing down the stairs, even faster this time, so I ran into the farthest corner. I tried hiding, but hiding didn’t save me. The door shot open so fast, it hit the wall with a thunderous bang. Lights suddenly filled the cellar.

I couldn’t see a thing, not with that bright light and me having been kept in the dark for so long.

Come here, you little shit, one of them said, but I couldn’t tell which one. It might have been them both.

Help me! Leave me alone, I shouted.

Someone knocked me to the ground. I kicked and screamed, but still felt the needle going into my arm. I went to sleep.

The next time I woke up, my hands and feet were tied together. My body ached, and I wondered if one of them had kicked me in the ribs. Then I heard someone groaning nearby. Somebody else was inside the room with me now. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stayed where I lay, until I could get a sense of where the other person was.

I tried to ask who was there, but there was something stuck over my mouth. After a short while, I could hear the other person better. It sounded like he or she was on the other side of the room. So there was definitely somebody else inside the room with me now, and it scared the shit out of me. With me being all tied up, I had to roll over towards the person. It was a girl’s crying I heard, and I wondered if she was also tied up like I was.

I don’t think she knew I was also locked in the room with her, and wasn’t one of the kidnappers, because when I gave her a little nudge, she kicked me in the ribs. I grunted at the sudden stab of pain. She tried screaming, so I put my head right next to hers, hoping she wouldn’t kick me anymore, and said my name as best I could. As I moved my mouth, the tape worked free a little, so my words