Insidious Valour, page 24
He checked left around the ring of cars, another clang from the opposite side. As he raised his pistol, he felt something cold press against the back of his head.
“Drop it,” a female voice demanded.
“Do as she says,” came a male voice joining in from further behind. It was Ryan.
“Ryan, I think…”
“I said drop it!” she repeated. Woodburn let his pistol fall to the ground. “Step towards the car with your hands up. Do not turn around.” He did as told, thinking of how to explain why he was there. He heard his gun being picked up, the magazine being removed, and the round unchambered.
“Turn around,” Ryan demanded.
Woodburn kept his movements slow and unthreatening. Upon his slow reveal, he saw their faces drop.
“General Woodburn?” Ryan asked. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I got broken off from our returning team,” he lied. “We landed at Brighton but were ambushed.”
“Are you okay?” Ryan looked him over. “We got a message from Harper saying you’d be two days.”
“That was just as we landed,” Woodburn explained. “And yes, I’m okay. Just a bit cold and unarmed.” He motioned to the gun. “Did Harper manage to get to you?” he said, carrying on with his charade.
“No. We haven’t heard from anyone. We’ve had a few attacks, so as you can imagine, we’re a bit on edge.”
“Being attacked? Here? Don’t you think I should be armed too?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. Sorry about that.” Ryan blushed, pushing a magazine back in and handing the pistol back over before turning to his fiancée. “Go meet with Team B at the petrol station, then get back home. We’ll be just behind.” He offered Woodburn a hot flask.
“Okay.” The woman nodded. Cassy? Woodburn tried to remember her name but didn’t care as he unscrewed the top and took a sip, watching her take off and leave the two men alone. Perfect. “Tea?”
“I didn’t know who was out here. I thought a warm drink could help,” Ryan said, handing him some bread, too.
Way too trusting. “How did you know I was nearby?”
Ryan slid his backpack off and pulled out a laptop, lifting the monitor and showing four screens. “Harper managed to get this dropped off to us a few weeks ago. Just to add some extra security and take some paranoia off our shoulders. I won’t lie, it’s helped.” He then chuckled innocently.
“Well, that is good,” Woodburn said coolly, sipping from the flask and watching Cassy vanish from their view. “Anyone else out here to surprise us?” he asked, screwing the cap back on and placing the container on a car bonnet, gripping his pistol.
“Just us now,” Ryan admitted. “Cassy’s meeting our second party and heading back. We thought it might be another ambush.” He kept his head towards the laptop, pulling out a small device from his pocket and plugging it in.
The thumb drive! They got it to him.
“One of your soldiers managed to get this to me—said it was of high importance. I wanted to show Harper, but whatever is on here, you’re probably qualified to see it. Might be too classified for me,” Ryan joked, unaware of what was waiting for him on the pop-up.
“Ryan, don’t!” Woodburn ordered, almost pleading. I’m going to have to kill him now. Panic surged, and he began to think of ways to either explain what was on the video or how he’d lie to the vineyard about Ryan dying.
An ambush. Another ambush. They’ve had a few already. The fiancée heard I’d been ambushed. I can make this work.
“Don’t what?” Ryan asked as he clicked the video icon, turning slowly. His expression changed to shock and betrayal as Woodburn raised his pistol.
The audio filtered out from the video on the thumb drive , cutting through the silence between them. Everything. All out in the open. The recording from Harper’s body cam. His final moments.
Ryan’s green eyes tinted with sadness as Harper’s death was confirmed, and the man responsible was standing in front of him. Woodburn saw Ryan’s arms beginning to flinch and raise the shotgun.
It’s either me or him.
Woodburn stared back, barrel aimed at Ryan’s chest, and emptied the magazine.
42
Though he had just stared into the eyes of someone who tried to murder him, and the shots were loud enough to cause his ears to nearly bleed, Ryan happily displayed his devilish grin back at Woodburn.
He raised the shotgun just enough and pulled the trigger, nearly taking off Woodburn’s right foot entirely. He waited for the expected cries of agony to finally die down, and after minutes of writhing pain, Woodburn finally looked up at him.
Ryan sat on the trunk of a car with a shotgun in hand. “You can thank one of your old pilots for the blanks,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Now, to the point in hand.” He turned the laptop around and displayed the monitor to Woodburn. Harper’s body cam footage.
“He was weak!” Woodburn cried, though trying to maintain some form of composure.
“You ate your best friend because you thought he was weak?” Ryan shook his head with utmost disgust, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He then held eye contact. “Harper was a fucking good man. I had to stop Drinker from coming out here and taking you apart piece by piece.”
“You don’t know what we know,” Woodburn snarled. “You allowed the downfall around you. Adam was just as weak as you.”
“You don’t deserve to call him by his name!” Ryan roared. “You killed your own fucking friend.” He stood off the car, eyeing his target over. “You know what, through all this shit that this world has put us through, I’ve taken many lives, but I’ve never once thought about selling out my own loved ones because they didn’t agree with me.”
“Save your fucking morals for your people. We’re doing what needs to be done.”
“Seeing as you bought it up…” Ryan pumped the shotgun. “What’s happened to my people in Rennes?”
Woodburn didn’t answer. Instead, he laughed, looking back at Ryan. “Even if I tell you, I know you won’t kill me.”
“Because?”
“Look at you. You let Connor live. You let the twins live. You let Hannah live.”
“I did. You’re right, but I still want an answer. What’s happened to my friends under your hospitality in Rennes?” Ryan held the gun tight, waiting for an answer while Woodburn delayed. “Are they dead?”
Woodburn nodded.
In the briefest moment, he saw them all. Rich, the unfair affliction he fought. The surviving member of his family.
Mikey and Jen. His best friend and the badass who was his girlfriend were expecting their first child.
Steph. His sister. His guide through life. His guardian angel through their turbulent and unsettling childhood. Losing her husband. Surviving the war. Losing Doc. Losing Lyndon.
All gone. Everything they once were. Taken.
The ground opened around Ryan as he pictured their faces, and everything turned black, like hell was waiting for him. Waiting to take another chunk out of his heart.
“Do you know what kind of bargaining chip you can use me as when Admiral gets here?” Woodburn suggested, breaking Ryan’s thoughts.
The question rattled in Ryan’s head before it quickly exited out the other ear. The darkness in his peripherals returned, and a red haze peppered across his gaze.
“Yeah, I do,” he choked, “but we’re running low on cat food.”
He aimed the barrel at Woodburn’s face and pulled the trigger.
43
The knife shook violently in Ryan’s hand as he carved their names onto the corkboard. Steph. Mikey. Jen. Rich. Callum. Unnamed Soldier. Harper. Six more names on the small memorial at the back of the cafeteria kitchen. Six more lives taken during the Termite War. To anyone on the outside, those names would just be statistics. Nothing more.
His heart wrapped itself in a lead blanket, and his soul wouldn’t let him cry. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, more that if he let himself feel this, he might never recover. The hurt and pain that he’d let himself feel was not more than an inconvenience now and had been dubbed over with a cold, cynical rage that aimed at only one thing.
Killing every single last one of Admiral’s men and their fucking Termites.
Ryan removed the knife from the corkboard and took it to the sink, where he washed the blood off. On the induction hobs behind him, two large stock pots simmered away with Woodburn’s remains in them. He’d not wasted any organs or skin when turning the former, highly respected general into feline cuisine.
He’d opened the delivery entrance doors to let the stench out, but nothing helped take away what he’d done after nearly two hundred people saw him drag the body through and start hacking on the other side of the hot counter.
His own people looked at him in a newer light, almost a cold respect. Neither condoning nor condemning his actions. They all knew he did what he thought was right.
The newer arrivals looked at him like he was one of the Termites, like he was the monster they should’ve been running from. In essence, he didn’t blame them. Their first experiences of Ryan during his rescue had been less than savoury, but at the end of the day, he had still rescued them.
There were whispers among them of Ryan being a monster, which didn’t even scratch the surface of his soul. Other labels of psycho, madman, or his personal favourite… Blood Ryan. He’d accepted being a monster long before, and no one new was going to tell him what he would have to do to survive.
It’s not just about killing. There’s still more to save, the faint tether connecting him to sanity reminded. “I know,” he spoke to himself. “I know.” He dried the knife and slid it into the right chest pocket of his gilet’s newest fitting. He moved with assertiveness back through the kitchen and out into the cafeteria, walking through the crowd of people to the podium.
All eyes leered on him. Some with fear, others with disgust.
“Okay,” he said factually, holding his hands out, “I get it. First impressions are important, and what you’ve seen of me so far has gotten some of you feeling like you’re trapped with a monster.”
“You’re damn right,” someone whispered.
“Cool.” Ryan shrugged. “Here’s the thing. I don’t fucking care.” He stepped around the podium. “None of you are here against your will. You are free to leave, and once you step foot outside our grounds, we’ll return your weapons, too.” He looked around the room. “It’s true. Fucking go ahead if you don’t want to be here. My people and I put ourselves out there to get you people to safety, but if you don’t want to be safe here… then that’s cool. No harm. No foul. No harsh feelings, and also, not my fucking problem. Once you’re out there, you’re on your own. If you want to face these people who will do worse to you than you’ve seen me do in the last three days, that’s your choice.” He pointed towards the exit. “Go ahead. No one is stopping you.”
No one moved. No one said anything.
“I would’ve thought that our intention was to help and save you, including some of your loved ones who very well may be still out there. We will not stop until we’ve helped as many people as we can, but you better rest assured that I will tear down anyone who brings my people harm. You can either be part of us, or you can fuck off.”
Again, no one moved.
“In that case, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Penbrook. Your first couple of days will be spent in this cafeteria. We’re going to have to take information from all of you regarding your families and lost ones, what skills you might have that can help us function as a larger community, and how we can all work together to keep us safe.” He stepped back behind the podium. “We’re all at war with this enemy, so we need to fight it together.”
Helicopter blades pounded the silent sky as the flashing lights came to a hovering standstill above the vineyard. The aircraft slowly descended towards the flare outside the front doors. Ryan stood with Drinker in the shadows, weapons by their side as the landing gear touched the ground.
The back ramp lowered with a strained whirr, and a fully armed figure approached, removing their Kevlar helmet. Long blonde hair dangled behind them, and fine blue eyes locked onto the pair.
“Alexi.” Drinker nodded with a small smile, approaching and shaking the major’s hand.
“Good to see you, my friend,” Alexi replied. “Where’s Ryan?”
Slowly stepping into the helicopter’s spotlight, Penbrook’s leader revealed himself. Alexi blinked twice as if he didn’t recognise him. Sure, his pale skin and vibrant green eyes were the same, but his light blond dreadlocks were now dyed blood red.
“That’s a new look,” Alexi remarked, offering his hand.
“Saves me having to wash my hair when I get blood in it,” Ryan answered, shaking hands. “What happened in Scotland?”
“I can see you’re not in the business of fucking around,” Alexi admitted. “Long story short, they knew we were coming. When we approached the east coast of North Uist, they sailed off the west coast, heading south underneath the Hebrides and landing back on the west coast of England, somewhere near Blackpool.”
“The survivor camps would’ve been left with almost no defences,” Drinker guessed.
“Exactly.” Alexi nodded. “We got sent Harper’s body cam footage…” he paused, “… we knew something was up. A short communication window with Sheffield said they were being attacked by some of Woodburn’s men. I had to get the footage to you before they tried to intercept it.”
“They nearly did,” Ryan confirmed. “Got as close as our front gates.”
“Did you have to fight them off?”
“Out of the twelve, eleven were gunned down. The twelfth one… I think what happened to him is referred to as a ‘Blood Eagle’ in your country?”
Alexi’s expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You would’ve made a hell of a Viking.” He extended his hand. “Do you have it?”
“Yeah.” Ryan dove his hand into his pocket, pulling out Woodburn’s smart radio. “Think you can unlock it?”
“A couple of my guys ran encryption for the first satellites we managed to reconnect to during Rennes first days of reestablishing order. If we can unlock this and gain access to his contacts and whatever programme he was using, it could be a game changer in fighting them.”
“Do you know where they are?” Drinker asked.
“We know that the U.S.S Gavato is settled off the west coast of Wales, and that Admiral and his men have made it back to Milton Keynes. They’re gearing up. My men can only recon the area before we run out of fuel while looking for any more survivors stranded out there.”
“What happens after you run out?”
“We’ll head back here and help fortify your town. Then we fight.”
“No,” Ryan blurted consciously. “Not the town.”
“What do you mean?” Alexi asked, confused.
“If we fortify the town, we lead them right to our doorstep.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“How many men have you got?”
“Around two hundred between what’s left of Operation Wolfpack and the staff at the survivor centres.”
“I suggest we fortify the fucking county, then…” Ryan looked to the jet-black sky, his green eyes twinkling with furious excitement, “…let’s make Surrey ours and kill any of them who try to enter.”
Acknowledgments
As always, this part is unedited… so you’ll get a true look into just how bad my English is!
A huge thank you and shoutout to the three ladies who make this book readable- my editors. Ericka, CJ, and Abby, it was an honour to work with you all again, and hope to continue this journey with you in the rest of the series.
The core of Team Penbrook! Nas, Lucy, Nadia, and Chava. I couldn’t have pushed through and filled in what was missing if it wasn’t for your attention to details. I hope the finished version lives up to it.
Dean. You never know how to deliver a bad product, and this cover art has the grip that suits it. Forever grateful for you. I can’t wait to see where your future endeavours take you.
Edita. We know where we are now, and what we’re doing. At last! My first port of call, and last eyes on this. This is for the doubters we left behind.
Ghost Squad: Chava Kerzel, Ola Tundun, Alex Carraro, Sandra Diamanti, Callum Munro, Dana Symonds, Donna Scuvotti, George Smith, Jenny McG, Nadia Vanders, Franky0258, Harriet Pearce, Shannon Nicole, Mak One Graffiti, Nic Winters, Sarah Zimm, and Vickie McCormick. You all helped with a major plot point in this story… so congratulations… I’m not telling you which part though!
The Critical Drinker, Mauler, and the rest of the guys at Open Bar. Your insights into what levels of story telling work have been invaluable to me.
To all my family, friends, any one who’s had an influence on my life, and most importantly… you guys reading this. Thank you.
About the Author
This is my third time doing this, and I’m still not sure what to write.
I live in Horsham, England. I’m a chef in my full time employment, I also run a new youtube channel: Penbrook’s Own.
I’m a huge advocate for mental health awareness, and these books are my own form of therapy.
I’m truly grateful for any and all support, and if I can take your mind off the ever growing stresses of today, then that’s all I could wish for.
Daniel Munro, Insidious Valour
