Dead Village (7 page)

Some of the men, himself included, had sustained minor to serious injuries. He looked across at Skunk, whose arm had been badly broken, and watched with anger as one guard poked at Skunks arm with a small branch, while another stomped on it. Brave Skunk had spat at the guard, who simply removed his sidearm and shot him in the head. The son-of-a-bitch had laughed as Skunk lay shaking on the ground in the throe's of death, as his blood spread fast and thick around his body.

“You little piece of shit,” Lieutenant Jones had shouted across, as the rest of his men seethed with rage and indignity.

Another sneering guard had sprinted across to Jones and clubbed the injured lieutenant hard on the face with the butt of his rifle and was about to kick him, when Jones suddenly lashed out with a startling uppercut to the man's chin, catching him cleanly. He grabbed the injured and disorientated man's AK47 assault rifle and cracked him viciously around the head with the barrel.

“Get them,” he ordered, as he opened fire, killing four or five of the enemy straight off.

His colleagues reacted bravely, and soon a bloody fire fight was blazing wildly, as his men grabbed the dead Viet Cong soldier's weapons and returned fire. There were too many though, and the lieutenant knew they couldn't win this fight as he watched his men get cut down in a hail of bullets.

“Run, run,” he yelled, just before he and two of the others were mown down in their tracks.

The remaining men scattered into the dense jungle, ignoring the heavy monsoon like rain that had started to fall.

Two of these men managed to stay hidden in the dense trees and eventually made it to the American lines. They related the story of the atrocity meted out to Skunk, and of Lieutenant Jones bravery, and in due course his now grief stricken widow was informed of his untimely death. She received her hero husband's medal of honour with pride. This medal, and others, she kept on display in a glass cabinet, alongside his picture. Now remarried, she would often tell Timmy the stories of his brave father.

For eleven years this widow talked solemnly of how her loving husband was taken from her, and how she often thought about him and still missed him so much. While she was alive though, she would firmly state, his memory would live on. She would often attend conferences and meet up with other wives of veterans who were killed or missing in action, while her understanding husband would take a back seat.

When Lieutenant Jones turned up alive and kicking though, this charade soon came to an abrupt end.

Lieutenant Jones had been shot all right, but a caring VC officer by the name of Koe Dhang had ordered that he should be humanly treated and given medical aid. He had survived and had been held captive ever since.

Now he was back, but instead of being greeted by his grieving widow, he was shunned by her. She would not bow to pressure from the military or John's family either, and refused to meet him or even let him see his son. She was very happy in her life now; with her four growing children, and loved her second husband Pete dearly. Nothing was going to spoil this life for her. ‘What's buried should remain buried,' she selfishly related to anyone who would listen. ‘I just can't deal with this,' she coldly told one reporter.

Lieutenant Jones had witnessed the vilest cruelty of war first hand as a young soldier, and not only by the enemy. He had been present when his own men had thrown an injured prisoner from a chopper one time, at two thousand feet.

This was war though, and he had accepted a long time ago, that in war, unjust and inhumane things can and do happen. At the time of the chopper incident, he had tried to stop the men doing this barbaric act, but they had laughed in his face. What could he have done anyway? He was only a grunt.

He could never get over that senseless act of cruelty that day though. But this cruelty he was now receiving was something even he could never have mentally prepared himself for.

This distraught man who had bravely fought for his country would have to take her through the law courts if he was to have access to little Timmy, who was now a grown boy, and didn't really want to meet him anyway. She had even written to her ex husband, pleading with him to leave them alone.

‘Little Timmy has a new father now,' she had said in the letter. ‘A father who cares for him just as though he were his own son, and there is just no room in our lives for anyone else right now.' She ended the letter by heartlessly saying they would be leaving town soon, and not to try and follow them. There was no kiss or hug or even a wish you well wrote at the bottom. In fact it was signed using her new surname.

She wouldn't have to worry about this happening though, because early one frosty morning, less than five weeks since his return, they found the lieutenants body two miles outside of town. The letter she had sent lay face up beside him. He had taken his mothers car and used some plastic piping, which he had fastened to the exhaust manifold, then he ran it through a small opening in the front window, and sealed it with an old jumper.

This brave soldier had kept himself alive all these years by thinking of when he would return to his wife and child, and become a loving family member with them again. Every wakening moment in captivity would be spent wondering what they were doing. He never gave a second thought that his wife would meet someone new, because he felt their love was much too strong for that to happen. She had always told him that no matter what happened there could only be him in her life. Now though, he had nothing, not even memories.

Dan remembered thinking at the time, of how he would have handled the situation differently. He truly believed then that he would have been happy for his wife, happy to let her get on with her new life. Now though, he just wasn't so sure about that decision. No, now he had made a complete u-turn regarding this feeling.

Because now he knew he would kill if necessary. He would do what was needed to keep Lynn and his children with him. In fact, he would even kill Beatrice if he had to.

He would strangle her with his bare hands; shoot her, stomp on her. In fact, he would use any means at his disposal to rid himself of this threat.

For a moment he felt guilty that he could actually consider doing something like this. Okay, so once he was a boxer, and this was a sport where violence was used.

However, outside of the ring it was a different matter. Dan didn't approve of street violence, or any kind of violence that left innocent people hurt.

But now Dan realised that under the right circumstances, anyone was capable of just about any damn thing. It just needed the right ingredients and the correct timing. But there was no way that he was going to lose out like Lieutenant Jones, who now lay buried in a military grave. A grave, he felt, that no one, apart from some military personnel would even go visit.

Maybe his grandmother had something, when she once told him. ‘Your life is laid out for you son, even before you exist. It's all in Gods great plan. Every single thing in life that has happened to you, from the time you took your first tumble, to the cut you accidentally gave yourself at work, it was all meant to be, but only he knows the reason why,' she had said, as she pointed toward the sky, and smiled.

Before, he had never thought this remotely possible, because to him it seemed pointless why God would do this. Now though, on this score, he also felt different.

Now he was sure his grandmother was right. And who was he to question the man upstairs and the decisions he makes anyhow?

Okay Grandma, this is all meant to be,
he thought.
And maybe with the help of Joseph Lapahie and Griff, if I can find him, all will come good in the end.

He pointed the car toward the interstate and headed for home. He didn't know what he was going to tell Lynn about the test, but he would cross that particular bridge when he came to it.

CHAPTER 7

Back in Ireland, the thunder crashed as the lightning bolt lit up the whole of the forest. Tully stayed silent and still. He too was now aware of everything that had gone on before. Now the large shadow in front had become much clearer. This creature that stood on the pathway of the forest was huge. And it was even bigger than the one they had dealt with before, when Dan Winters was with them.

This creature was at least ten or eleven feet tall. Now he was sure it was waiting for him. He paused for a few moments, before bravely leaning his body out from behind the tree, and as he stared into the distance, another lightning bolt lit up the creepy lane.

Only the surrounding swaying forest came into view. It was gone!

Tully was aware of the large trees and hedges that stood menacingly in the foreground at either side.

He tried to gauge the distance, and guess how long it would take him to sprint past this gauntlet of terror, out from the black frightening forest, and back into normality. He shook his head sadly.

Because, up until this moment in time, Tully had loved the forest and everything about it. The smells and sounds of nature had become a major part of his reason to exist. A part of his soul, he believed. But nothing less was to be expected after so many years of living this kind of life that he had shared with his father. Now he swore that if he could get his ass safely out of there this one last time, then he would never venture into the forest again, ever.

He would find something else to do and be happy with Francis. He would live the life that had eluded his father.

The thunder crashed all around him as multiple bursts of lightning filled the sky and the ground seemed to shake. He became frightened at this awesome power which now surrounded him.

The noise was almost deafening, and it felt to Tully that the world had finally come to its climax, and would burst into a trillion pieces right here from this very spot. He just didn't want it to end here like this.

*  *  *  *  *

It would take him a full two to three minutes to reach his goal, he figured. That is if he ran full pelt. He hadn't had a run for a long time, or even had a work out for that matter, and he wasn't confident. As a schoolboy, he would run everywhere with no problems, but that was a long time ago.

Fear however can do wonderful things for a person, and Tully believed his adrenaline would push him on.

He would leave any access baggage behind, baggage that would only slow him down. He would have to travel light. He would disregard the shotgun, which he knew was no good to him now anyway.
Not against this kind of power,
he thought. Even his heavy coat would be left behind. Nothing would be allowed to stop him escaping the forest.

He would wait for a long bolt of lightning, and then make his mad dash for freedom through the darkness.

He wrapped the shotgun and his bag inside his coat, and hid them in deep inside some bushes beside the stump of an old tree. Now he was as ready as he was ever going to be.

A fierce wind blew across the trees, almost shaking them from their foundations.
I must go now,
he thought.

He began talking to himself. “Steady,” he said as the sky lit up. “Steady, stead…, run!”

The flash of light died, and he was off. Even in the darkness there was just enough moon-light to guide him in the right direction.
One minute,
he thought as he raced on.

His breathing was laboured now, and he felt his pounding heart pump like never before. His legs felt like lead. “Run Tully, run you bastard,” he coaxed himself loudly. He soon reached the point where he had first saw the silhouette of the creature. Then he was quickly passed.
I'm going to bloody make It. Two minutes,
he thought.

Tully could see the village lights in the distance, and his second wind kicked in.
Almost there,
he thought, ignoring his faltering legs.
I'm making it.

Something tripped him, a stone, or a branch perhaps, and he crashed down heavily onto his chest. Dirt and rain soaked mud splashed up into his face. He cursed loudly, but quickly forced himself up and once more ran on, panting. He felt the stabbing in his side, but he ignored it and sprinted on.

Then a lightning bolt lit up the pathway again, and Tully stopped almost dead in his tracks, breathless.

“Oh dear Lord no,” he choked between pants.

The huge figure levitated in front of him. It hovered about three feet from the ground. Its cape strained behind it in the heavy wind, its face hidden deep inside the hood.

“What the fuck are you? Who are you?” Tully panted, hands on knees. “And w-what do you want from me?” he choked.

Before he could straighten up, it was level with him. It caressed his face with a large cold hand, as it jerked its head from side to side. Then it slowly moved around him.

“Why me, damn you? Why me?” Tully groaned. But the creature simply stared into his face.

Now Tully wished he had brought the shotgun. He was aware that the shotgun could not kill something like this, but he would feel better pumping away at it, blasting at its monstrous face and tearing lumps out of it, instead of standing like a frightened little rabbit that's been caught in the glare of some vehicle's headlights.

The creature wailed into his face with an almost deafening scream, covering his eyes and nose in a sticky spit. Tully bravely stared back at it, his eyes locked.

As he looked into its ghastly face, it opened its large mouth. The teeth behind the thin grey lips were long, almost sabre like. These teeth weren't protruding on either side though. They were in a row, across the top and bottom jaw. Long and pointed. A flow of a purple like substance trickled across them and dripped off its chin, and onto the ground.

“Great God,” Tully whispered.

He could feel his heart pump loudly in his chest, as thoughts of his brave father raced through his frightened mind.

He wondered what his father would have done in this situation. He remembered one time of how his father had dived into the fast running river at Moy when they had gone across the country on a fishing trip to catch the salmon there. Some poor man had taken a seizure and had fallen in. Without hesitation, his father, who was a prolific swimmer, had gone in and saved the man. But then hadn't he done the same thing to save some men during the fire at the paint factory that almost killed him? His act now-think later father had paid dearly for that particular act of bravery. And because of his father's actions, so had he.
No!
Tully thought,
I won't provoke it.

The beast stared at him for a moment, before slowly moving off, high, through the tree tops and back into the forest.

Suddenly though, Tully's reasoning broke down.

“Kill me now, you bastard,” Tully spat after it, as tears ran down his face. “Get it over with, get it over with,” he repeated.

But Tully knew that for now it was gone. That is, until it returned to claim him. Tully didn't notice the second creature lurking in the shadows, which soon moved slowly away into the dense forest.

Tully fell to his knees, and held his head. Now, just like Sarah all those years ago, he had been chosen. He would be its next victim. And he, like Otis, would soon be roaming the earth, unknowing and uncaring. He would become a vile evil killing creature with no mercy or compassion. And he would lose Francis forever.

Now he didn't have much time.

He was sure he would not have the strength that Otis had when he laid his life down to fight one of these creatures, or the mental prowess that his uncle McLeay had shown when confronting the demon in the mine.

Before all of this began, Tully didn't believe in a creator. Now though, he was certain there was one.

*  *  *  *  *

Francis pulled her aching body up from the hallway floor and rubbed at her throbbing head. All around her it was still and silent and the house was in darkness. She struggled hard to remember. A bright light, quickly followed by a boom of thunder, frightened her.

“What the hell has happened to me tonight?”

She stood dazed and confused for a moment before clumsily flicking at the light switch, but the room stayed dark. A quick check of the hall clock told her she had been out cold for some time. She knew immediately that the house was empty.
Tully,
she thought
. I must go find him.

She stared up the empty staircase at the dark shadows, and for a moment she became very frightened and agitated.

A black movement swept across the staircase and she spun around. Everything remained still, and she thought of how her imagination must be playing tricks on her. A door slammed, and Francis knew that she hadn't imagined the sound.

Her only concern now was to get out of there as quickly as possible. Something was in her house, something dangerous.

Francis quickly flung on her coat, and in habit more than necessity, grabbed her scarf and stepped out into the dark empty street without looking back. A heavy squall of rain blew into her face, stinging her eyes and cheeks, and she pulled the knitted scarf tightly around her head.

The streets looked deserted, which frightened her even more. As she passed the pub, she paused to look inside. Although Tully didn't drink, she prayed that somehow he had stepped into the little warm welcoming pub, to maybe dry off.

There were two old men playing dominoes, Mathew and Dermot, and she recognized them both, and as she entered, Mathew waved.

“Hello Mathew, hello Dermot, have you seen Tully by any chance?”

“Shut the damn door,” Dermot shouted, as the cold bitter wind blew inside.

“Sorry,” Francis said, as she pushed the door shut behind her.

“Why I saw Tully earlier Francis, I think he was heading toward the forest, but I can't be certain,” Mathew replied.

“He certainly loves that forest,” Dermot added. “Why though, is anyone's guess. I wouldn't go in there for all the tea in China, no sir, not in a thousand years.”

“You wouldn't go to the top of the road for all the tea in China,” Mathew spat.

“Says you, you old fart.”

“Yes, I do say. Why you're frightened of your own shadow. Tully though, why he's a different matter altogether. He was brought up in the forest. No sir, the forest won't frighten Tully anymore than it would frighten a fox. The rest of us though, well that's a different story.”

Mathew turned and gripped Francis tightly by the hand.

“Stay away from that place Francis. It's too damn dangerous for you,” Mathew offered.

“Yeah, stay away,” Dermot agreed.

Dermot stared at the ceiling for a moment before he spoke.

“When I was a young man, I worked in Lamont's mine, and I seen it,” he added.

“What'd you see?” Mathew slated.

“I, that is, we all seen the monster,” he corrected. “It was floating around, inside of the mine. We all ran like the blazes to get out of there. I can still remember the terror on the foreman's face, shouting and yelling at us to get the hell out of there.”

“You've been on that medication for far too long,” Mathew moaned.

“Yeah, well you just don't know, you weren't there. It was a hideous thing, maybe fifteen feet tall,” Dermot exaggerated. “With big pointed teeth and huge bloody han…”

“You're frightening the poor woman you idiot,” Mathew interrupted.

Francis already knew what the creature was like, and she was frightened enough without them going on about it. She wanted to shout out to them, of how she and the others had fought the creatures all those years ago, but she thought the better of it. Things were bad enough in the village without old Dermot and Mathew making it worse with bloody rumour mongering.

“Well, I'll be off then,” Francis said.

“Wait girl, sit down and take the weight of your feet,” Mathew suggested, as he sipped a drink from his creamy looking pint of Guinness, which left him sporting a little white moustache of froth.

“Yes Francis, come and play some dominoes with us and have a drink or two.”

“I can't, I must find Tully, some other time perhaps.”

“Tully will be okay Francis, why everyone knows Tully and the forest are like family. Don't worry, just go on home out of this weather, and I'm sure he'll be there already, waiting for you with his slippers on,” Mathew laughed.

“Thank you, you may be right,” Francis whispered, and then she was gone.

A fierce wind almost blew her off her feet, and she held the wall for support.

A bolt of lightning crossed the sky and she wondered why Tully hadn't come home much earlier. Because, like Tully, common sense told her that there would be no poachers out and about on a night like this one. In fact, no one in their right state of mind would be out on this night, except Tully.

But she had this bad feeling that she couldn't explain. It was a sort of an unexplainable knowledge that Tully needed her.

She prayed that nothing had happened to him as she reluctantly made her way toward the dark eerie forest.

Back inside the pub, old Mathew had just won his third game in a row.

“She's a beautiful girl, that Francis,” old Mathew stated.

“Yes, and I bet you wish you were forty years younger, you old beggar. But she still wouldn't look at you twice.”

“Well, I always was the better looking man between the two of us, Dermot, and you cannot deny that. She'd have looked at me long before you back then, and that's a fact.”

“Well now Mathew, maybe if she'd had a fever perhaps, but not under normal circumstances she wouldn't,” he laughed.

“Well, any woman who would look at you back then must have been blind or insane, Dermot O'Connell,” Mathew spat, and laughed loudly.

“Is that right? Well to hell with you then, I'm not taking any more of your insults.”

Old Dermot packed his Dominoes rather hurriedly and in a huff, and stormed from the bar, his bag held tightly under his arm, while Francis headed toward the forest, unaware of the row her presence at the pub had caused between the old feuding friends.